


take me from the water

by soleilcalm



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Body Horror, Conspiracy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Healthy Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Loose Interpretation of Canon, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Alternating, Sick Character, Suicidal Thoughts, Team as Family, attempts of reconciliation, depressed characters, everyone's gay to some extent, it's not as dark as it sounds like, there's also a hamster
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:33:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22292617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soleilcalm/pseuds/soleilcalm
Summary: Four years after their anticlimactic farewell, Sam is still connected to Amelie’s beach. He needs answers about his deteriorating health and preferably a closure, but all there is left to him is another man left to his fate.
Relationships: Fragile/Lockne (Death Stranding), Sam Porter Bridges/Higgs Monaghan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 119





	1. let us go then

These days, in his dreams, Amelie doesn’t have a face. She is color. White as the foam of the retreating waves, and dark as a piece of dying moss under his feet. She is red as the bleeding stars encircling a planet with their ruthless grace, as he watches it burn from far away. He is at peace with his guilt now, seeing the spectacle unfold in front of him over and over again. It happens so fast from the perspective of this higher dimensional observation deck. He counts to five, and the bombardment is over.

When there is no one else to annihilate, BTs begin to engulf each other. Amidst futile attempts to escape their brethren’s ferocious bites, they ascend from earth’s desolation and wiggle around its bare curves. The whole scene is weirdly satisfying to watch. The BTs soon become the ouroboros that will never regenerate. They will fade into silence along with the planet in their embrace, their trophy, which died in agony. The ultimate extinction kills the dead.

In his dreams, that’s when Sam feels someone puffing toward his nape. Though he knows what to expect, it always gives him goosebumps and watery eyes. Their breath is hot and wet against the frosty air, but it doesn’t last long. It holds one syllable, he figures, an invisible mark to remind him he’s not alone. He calls to Amelie desperately, and he wants to believe so badly that she whispers something back through the wind, something mortals can never conceptualize. He runs across the cliffs that are all too familiar, since he doesn’t know where else to look for a revelation and he never gets tired on the beach.

After a little while, Sam wakes up. A cramp just hit his left arm, a bad one. He finds himself unable to move before everything intensifies. The bedsheet is so cold that it irritates his skins, and his hairs are suddenly too long, too much of a burden for him to see through and breathe through. He struggles over not to swallow in case he will choke, while silent screams build up in his throat and scalding torrents of fear gush under his eyelids.

Lou is staring at him. He can’t tilt his head to look at her general direction, but she is offering him that pointy look for sure. She gets closer and touches the back of his left hand tentatively. He can’t bear to imagine what he looks like right now. Lou squeezes his hand with all the strength a four-year-old can gather, a reassurance, and an inquiry. She’s never a vocal kid, but she finds other ways to communicate. Upon no replies, she rushes to the entrance.

He thinks he hears something click. It should be one of the magical buttons Deadman deployed in their cottage last year. Most of them are close enough to the ground for Lou to access. She’s a smart kid. She understood when Sam explained why the buttons are important, “If we break, we have to call our friends because they can fix the broken parts for us.” It didn’t occur to him with such validity that he is the one to break first. That possibility has been lurking at the back of his mind since the fateful rainfall they witnessed at the cremation center. The rain held a strong odor of decomposition, leaving one of them enlightened, one hurt; one born, one aged. But it isn’t until now for that thought to hold some weight. Maybe too much.

Before long, Lou runs back, and Fragile’s at his bedside. She doesn’t act surprised. She quickly puts a gloveless hand on his cold, wet forehead, while he tries his best to locate Lou in the periphery of his vision. He panics when Fragile deepens the crease between her brows to concentrate and adds more pressure on her fingertips.

“Don’t worry, I’m taking you both.” She points to her other hand, upon which is Lou’s tiny fist. Lou must be so nervous about the ordeal Sam has put her through. She deserves none of this.

Sam tries to move his lips for a proper apology, not that they want to hear it. And then his room is empty.

——

“How bad is it?” Sam asks, as casually as possible.

Everyone’s here except Heartman. He has suspended an unspecified number of beach visits to stay with Lou, and Sam’s so damn grateful. He’s patient with kids, and he’s the best storyteller among them. He’s also the most experienced regarding parenting. Sam decides to break off this line of thoughts for now, since he is already physically hurting.

Beside a stiff Deadman, Fragile stares at him with a strained smile while Lockne strokes her gloved hand slowly. That’s all Sam needs to know. He takes a shuddered breath to ease some nerves, tasting his saliva on the tip of his tongue, thick and metallic. He wants to retch.

“You can be honest with me,” he manages to say. “I won’t bite. I’m really knocked out here.”

“If you’re not lying on the bed,” Deadman hands him a folder, taking a deep breath for supposedly comedic effects. “I would suggest you taking a seat.” Glad to know someone shares his sense of humor.

“Why so old fashioned all of a sudden?” His fingers hesitate over the textured cover, so he has a few more seconds to prepare himself.

“Holograms are more graphic than necessary,” Lockne offers. “We’re not here to scare you.”

Sam huffs and flips through the report. There are numbers he’s not in particular sensitive to. There's also radiography of human organs that seem completely normal. If there’s a nice chart somewhere to summarize everything in plain language, it’s not on the first or last page. He puts down the report and meets his friends’ eyes. They’re half in expectation, half in distress, searching and digging for his reactions. He sighs.

“What’s the problem?”

Deadman lowers his gaze and pinches his nose briefly as if he’s the one put on the spot. Fragile nods at him. He concedes with a soft hum, and his whole demeanor suddenly changes as he stands upright with a serious look in his eyes, more concerned than usual. “You are no longer a repatriate, Sam.”

Sam almost laughs. After the timefall stopped, he hasn’t been repatriated even once. He doesn’t need to. Crossing the border between life and oblivion is a memory from another life, the subsistence for a man who was so tired and torn apart that he was always ready to let go, a man he tries to avoid when looking at the mirror.

“I can live with that.”

“But you can’t live with deteriorating vital organs.” Deadman retrieves the report from his loose grip and turns to a nice little chart he certainly missed. Even so, he can’t fully understand what it says. He thinks he’s still high because of the pills.

“Your heart and digestive system suffer the most. According to Heartman’s theory, this is the accumulative effects of your past ‘deaths’,” Now that he’s clenching the report like he’s ready to shove it into someone’s face, Deadman doesn’t bother to do the air-quotes. “A repatriate doesn’t just recover from physical damage. Amelie’s beach somehow reverses the flow of time for the damaged parts, so the body is still in the state moments before the fatal blow. ”

“After one’s repatriated, their connection with Amelie is the only remedy for the few seconds’ discrepancy between their body and their external world,” Lockne says, and Sam vaguely recalls a similar conversation with Bridges he was forced to partake in years back.

“Given our research, whatever this connection refers to is not reducible to the connection between beaches. It’s like she puts a part of her inside you. It should stay with you and sustain the connection even if she cuts her off. I’m sorry Sam, we never thought otherwise.”

“Unfortunately, we haven’t found any medical reports in the chiral network that allude to your situation, and we don’t know how many repatriates are out there in the first place,” Deadman grimaces. “Our judgments are made solely based on your case. Given your most recent physical examination, it seems she’s not connected with you in the most relevant sense.”

“You don’t know that.” Sam hisses through his teeth. Amelie is smiling in the depth of the dull ache of his brain, his body, and his hollow existence. He can feel her. (But what is she smiling at?)

“But if that is the case, which is very likely, your vital wounds will gradually resurface to synchronize with not-beach time. And no more repatriations.” Deadman says quietly.

“Then I don’t have much time left, don’t I? I died before I was born. And I went through two void outs, so what, every fucking molecule in my body will evaporate twice?” He snickers at himself despite a sudden urge to cry, and his friends visibly wince. “I guess you can call me Dyingman now.”

Everyone’s breath buzzes in his ears amidst the silence. He is going to laugh at his inappropriate joke if no one speaks out, just so to feel less pathetic.

Luckily for him, Fragile steps forward. “Nothing is set yet, Sam. They don’t know any details about when or why, or how. That’s why I’m here,” She pauses for a moment. “If she’s still with you, I’ll take you directly to the answer.”

“Her beach’s closed,” Sam reminds her.

“We have to try,” Deadman chimes in with a smile, a thin one. “A chance is all we get.”

——

When Lou visits him, someone has already informed her about Sam’s imminent departure, because the first thing she asks is when he will come back. She is more worried than upset, and Sam tries so hard to make sure his frustration and guilt don’t show.

“I will be back as soon as possible.” Kids usually cannot measure time in abstract terms, so he adds, “Give me one day. Aunt Fragile will bring me back by then.”

“Uncle Deadman said you go there to get better. What if you don’t?”

Sam swallows. “We’ll find other ways to make me better. We have awesome friends and they fix things for us, remember?”

That makes her giggle, but not for long. “Uncle Deadman said I can’t visit you because it is very far from here, but Aunt Fragile sent us here from our house.”

Sam doesn’t answer immediately, though he’s well aware of what she meant. He doesn’t know how to account for the difference between _the_ beach and a physical building, not when it inevitably entails the concept of death. Lou is extremely perceptive about loss. She becomes visibly disturbed when an elder person is nearby, or when their neighbor’s garden roses wither during the winter. Sam attempted to touch upon the natural course of life with her last winter, but she was too uneasy to continue the conversation. Or maybe he was just not good with words. Either way, he has to learn to talk about this invisible nemesis, sooner rather than later, because one day Lou will ask about her _mother_.

It always hurts to think about her provenance: a woman forced to hold her last breath, and a man who kept on dying. Lou has a strong connection with the dead since the beginning, by blood and by pain. He hates that he was part of it. He wants to retch again.

Sam forces himself to look at Lou nevertheless, weighing his words. “That place is even farther. Sending the two of us will make Aunt Fragile very tired. She will need to rest for a long time,” He cracks a smile. “She’s a busy woman with her own company, and she wants to visit Lockne more often. We don’t want to take too much of her time.”

Lou thinks it over and nods. Her quiet concession never stops amazing Sam. It also reminds him of the implausibility of a lighthearted childhood for Lou and his everlasting guilt for utilizing her gifts, be it her BB sense or her precocious thoughtfulness.

“Can you tell me what it’s like?”

“You will be standing in front of the sea. There's tons of water and fish.” Sam waves his hands to picture how huge it could be, feigning excitement.

“The doctor’s living by the sea?”

“That’s right,” Sam answers a bit too fast.

“It gets cold, right? The sea brings strong winds.”

Sam’s relieved that Lou’s not intrigued enough to ask further questions about Amelie. “Sometimes, yes. And when it’s warm, everything’s so colorful and nice.” He smiles.

“Will you take me to the sea? When it’s warm?”

“Yes,” Sam promises. “Your uncles and aunts will want to go there as well.” A real, open sea, warm under the sunlight, piling up layers of color. It won’t bring him back to the freezing spot beneath his beach, where no light came through and Sam could neither sink nor float after Amelie let him go, from where Lou brought him back.

With that, they chat a little more on mundane topics, like Heartman’s unveiled eyes today. Explaining the difference between glasses and contacts is much more enjoyable. When Deadman knocks on the door and Lou bids him goodbye, he feels underprepared to say anything that doesn’t faintly sound like a farewell, but at least he holds back tears until Lou is on her way to the guest room reserved for her stay over.

“Here.” Fragile hands him a miscellany of things: the dream catcher, which was hung by his bedroom door, some tissues, and a cryptobiote. He’s used to her shadowy occurrence by now, but the sudden closeness to a living human being still makes him startled a little.

She takes a few steps back and turns her back, so he may indulge himself with a moment of vulnerability.

“Thank you,” Sam throws the tissues away and takes a sip of water. “And sorry for the fuss.”

She turns around, giving him a look that says don’t be silly. “Your parameters look good. Are you ready?”

“Don’t think I ever will,” He puts on a pair of sneakers before she helps him out of the bed. “But here we go.”

“Do you want to change your clothes first?” She points to the striped shirt assigned by the infirmary.

He shakes his head.“It’s comfy. Besides, it helps to state my purpose.”

“Fair enough. Anything you’d like to address?”

“Yeah…I promised Lou to be back within 24 hours.”

“I’ll get to you before that,” She assures him. “And this time we know where to look for if she ever sends you out.”

“I know, I trust you,” Sam murmurs, taking a glimpse of the miçanga. “And that’s a risk I have to take.”

He walks closer before he can change his mind. Fragile gives a firm nod and lets their foreheads touch, her hands gently put on his shoulders. A familiar, intense sensation strikes him all at once, submerging him under her concentration.

“Focus, Sam. Reach for her.”

So he closes his eyes, picturing Amelie’s beach. Amelie’s wearing her red dress and her signature smile. The quipu is shining under her neck despite the lack of sunlight. Amelie waves at him, and then she is frozen, along with the turbulent waves under her feet. Her flashy teeth and pointed stare soon become unbearable.

He doesn’t know what he fears the most, the chance to meet her again or the lack thereof. He feels Fragile’s hesitation and the crease of her eyebrows.

“Remember, you love her.” Her proposition now sounds like a question, but it prompts the scene to proceed anyway. The ocean’s raging again. Amelie takes her hand back to the side of her body before she falls.

“There it is,” Fragile exclaims.

He opens his eyes. The splash of saltwater forces him to blink and run backward.

The sky is even gloomier than last time. The beach feels warm, though, and he can almost taste the moisture in the air. He squints at the chunks of cloud and realizes that they’re moving.

He looks around. His heart is beating so damn fast.

Amelie’s nowhere to be seen, but he’s not alone. Using his peripheral vision, he notices a human-like figure lying prostrate beside a whale’s remains. Their tar-covered feet are just inches away from the waves’ reach. Their face, bizarrely clean, is tilted to his direction.

Sam’s blood runs cold, and the person opens their eyes on cue. A moment has passed. Neither of them moves until Sam decides to turn to them.

Higgs sits up, surprisingly without any trouble. He moves his lips several times as if he has lost the syllable somewhere. Sam waits, eyes fixating behind him. His voice sounds fuzzy and hoarse, but his eyes are sharp as ever.

“Sam?” He asks, and Sam hears the thunder rumble in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to some music while trying to find my inspiration. There's Underwater by Jasmine Rodgers, from which I got the title for this fiction.  
> The chapter title is from T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. When/if I finish it, the title of the last chapter will also feature a line from this poem.  
> Thank you so much for reading my work, and please be aware that English is not my first language. Comments and suggestions will be greatly appreciated :D


	2. the first rainfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It never rained like this, not until Sam came. Now they have to wait it out together.

_Sometime before the grandiose finale of their last battle, Higgs almost got him. He shook off Sam’s strands when Sam heard something snap. He tumbled a little bit, and Higgs just kept pushing, with a swollen jaw, a broken wrist, and the strength that matched his impulsion perfectly. He had his head bump against Sam’s face, howling, trying to push him under the water. His good hand clinched around his neck, meticulously and furiously. Sam saw stars even before he crashed into the water._

_He panicked. He didn’t think of Lou, not even Amelie. In his mind, there’s only this blurry figure above him, who was gagging him with such passion as if all there was left of this man, all that was personal about him was Sam. His life, his demise, the fading pulse under Higgs’s desperate grasp. As if he’s the last trial before Higgs ascends from the flawed, insignificant human world, where the only certainty is its doom. Sam didn’t know if he planned to kill him or hold onto him. The result would be the same anyway. He just thought, at that moment, all there was left of him was also Higgs, and he had something inside to match whatever Higgs was reaching out with. Something raw, something thrusting._

_He grabbed his bad hand, which was wobbling in such a strange way that it seemed alive. He twisted it with the last ounce of his strength. The water muffled the sound, but from the way Higgs lifted his shoulders, he knew that his wrist cracked more thoroughly this time._

_The other hand still found its anchor on his neck. His fingers were trembling, but there was no sign of giving up. Each of them was at mercy of the other man, like gears in action. That was until Sam turned his hand over completely. The hand on his neck loosened a tiny bit. He quickly slid to the side, dashed to the surface, and took a mouthful of air. It had a stench of burning bones, but that was the last thing Sam cared about._

_Higgs looked at him. He was soaked through and clearly in pain. He was catching his breath as well. His chest fluctuated drastically; what he could see of his neck was blood red, his Adam’s apple throbbing with each gasp, as if he was holding his breath this whole time._

_Sam was hot, itchy, and confused. He rushed toward Higgs and punched him hard._

——

At first, he stands in absolute silence, trying to process what he’s been spotting out the corner of his eye. Higgs has fully functional limbs, even though he’s still sitting there. Regardless, he needs to be prepared.

“Where’s Amelie?” Sam draws himself up, so they won’t look into each other’s eyes. Yet the sight is still quite distracting. Higgs’s hood is completely off; his hair is slicked back. It’s tangled with sand, messy, but not dirty. That’s definitely not what he remembers. His presence is way too delicate, too out of place. He expects him to be washed over a thousand times in water, blood, and tar, like everything else stranded here.

“So it’s you,” Higgs drawls. “How disappointing. I really thought you would ask about me.”

“Let me rephrase that. What the fuck are you doing here?”

Higgs laughs. His whole body shakes in a composed manner, his glare focusing on Sam’s face, challenging him to look down. Don’t start the fight, Sam warns himself, this man may well be a maniac, but he’s smart enough to use that to his advantage.

“That’s a little far-fetched for a ‘how are you’,” His laughter soon turns into a snarl. “You think I choose to be where you are. You think I have control over where She is. What gives you that impression, Sam? Didn’t our dear Fragile tell you how annoyingly easy it was to punch me, spit on me, and throw my little head at a rock?”

“She left you somewhere else,” Sam deadpans. “You were bleeding, covered from head to toe with tar. There has to be an explanation about your current state.”

“If you want answers, you’re not gonna find ‘em here.” Higgs glances at his stupid shirt with amusement, contemplating. Anyone would run if they know better.

“And how would you know?”

“I’ve been searching for Her,” He replies flatly. “Whenever I was awake, I walked along the shore and called out to Her. Sometimes I climbed up but no one’s on the cliff. What a pity, those are good diving spots.”

“What do you want from her?” Sam immediately realizes that he shouldn’t keep asking questions. Higgs wouldn’t lie, but he’s an expert at manipulating words to yield half-truths. He orchestrates riddles and symbols and leaves his believers scared and bemused so they have no choice but to follow him. Giving him attention is a waste of time. The information he offers won’t make sense unless he adds more layers to it, creating more uncertainty, a bigger question, and another opportunity for him to deliver theatric monologues.

To his surprise, Higgs gives a rather simple answer, if you ignore the unnecessary parts.

“I need a way out, that should be obvious. I think I’ll have to beg, don’t you think so? After all, I revealed her dirty secrets to Fragile, who apparently told you.”

Sam wants to scoff and point out the spite so insidious in his tone, telling him that neither Fragile nor him should be held accountable for the grave he dug for himself. The self-entitled bastard, entrapped in a world where everything caters to his will. Sam is on the verge of letting out a curse, but Higgs cuts in.

“My turn. What can possibly be your unfinished business here?” He asks wittingly.

Sam remains quiet, his heart pounding in his chest, the place that hurts the most. Higgs studies him for a few more moments, and suddenly there’s an odd glint in his eyes. He lies down, facing up this time. His eyes are still prodding on Sam’s motionless façade.

“The first time I woke up after Fragile got her sweet revenge, I was all clean and good. Guess She wanted me pretty when everything ends. Was She tending to you when She invited you to the party? Did She bath you in the water, warm, tender, peaceful under the sun—everything She’s not? Does it remind you of the womb?”

Sam finally locks eyes with him. He bents over and grabs his collars until his knuckles turn white. When he realizes that he has lost the balance, it’s already too late to straighten his legs. He blames his weak knees and the stupid sand, and above them all himself, who’s been waiting for provocation, a chance to lash out.

He ends up straddling Higgs in a quite inconvenient position. Of course, Higgs is by no means embarrassed. He just grins at him, one arm stretched out with ease, and the other supporting his left side so Sam wouldn’t fall on him. He doesn’t even blink.

“I won’t punch you,” Sam clenches his teeth. “I won’t give you that satisfaction. You have no power over me.”

“You sure were planning to do that,” Higgs lets his arm down as Sam struggles to stand up. “I think the idea of hurting me excites you.”

“I’m leaving.”

For a brief moment, Sam expects Higgs to scorn at him or grab his ankle. He does nothing. He’s just lying there, somewhat inalienable to the beach. He looks peaceful, his chest barely moving when he inhales. By contrast, Sam is a mess. He still has trouble standing on his feet, his muscles twitching and tightening, wrestling with one another, pulling him toward seemingly all directions. Higgs’s eyes trace his clumsy posture quietly; it’s almost like he’s encouraging Sam to take his time. Sam doesn’t.

He doesn’t look back while he walks away. The other man’s glare is burning silently on his back, leaving a tingling sensation at the back of his head. His strides become faster; he breathes with his mouth open, filling his lungs with the wind, which has been gradually growing for what feels like minutes. He has to stop at one point to catch his breath. After that, he makes some slight adjustments to his direction and walks offshore, since the ocean, now turning dark and churning violently, may soak his clothes at any time.

He should’ve listened to Fragile and changed this damn thing. He’s not that concerned about getting rid of this piece of cloth if he needs to, he thinks with a wry smile; after all, he’s accustomed to being naked on a beach. He’s more unnerved by the possibility that Higgs knows what’s going on. Hell, he probably is aware of Sam’s relief from aphenphosmphobia as well, since Sam didn’t wince when he touched him.

He should really take a moment and let the realization sink in, pondering the consequences of Higgs’s possession of his personal information. He should feel threatened, angry, and ready to shout something abominable to the air for his sanity’s sake. But he’s too exhausted to do anything about his emotions, which are barely registered to his brain in the first place. He wants to get this over with as soon as possible.

For now, the only consolation is that he can’t feel Higgs’s eyes anymore. Sam decides to let out a half-hearted chuckle, for Higgs finally learns to leave people alone. It follows that no one’s in his vicinity except the rocks. Some of them appear rather peculiar, and he just saw one that resembles a giant reptile with a severed tail. He wishes he never paid them attention, because he begins to see all sorts of uncanny shapes, and they make his stomach turn.

He’s dying for something that doesn’t evoke such nausea. But he has no way to know what would calm his nerves for he never held any antipathy toward the landscape before. (If that’s how he feels about the beach, what does that say about Amelie? )

Sam looks away, then up at the dark clouds that are so ominously still. He stops for a moment. He watches in a daze as the lightning strikes down, sprawling, illuminating, until the expanse of the sea is foiled in its pale light. The thunder makes him shudder. He blinks once, twice, and looks away again, this time focusing on his steps. If he keeps up with this speed, he’s going to climb uphill soon.

——

He didn’t find Amelie. He tried to shout her name out loud at the highest points he could reach with his body intact, but the wind was too strong to carry those words out properly. Deep down, he knew that his endeavors wouldn’t matter in the face of her decision, but keeping himself busy is a much better alternative than feeling like a useless pile of meat whilst waiting.

It doesn’t help that he feels something wet and cold on his forehead. Sam trudges back hastily and flings himself into a crack on the mountainside that turns out to be a cave entrance, just in time for the storm to unleash its full potential, thumping against every concrete surface out there. The mountain echoes.

He wipes his face with the hem on the front of his shirt. It’s the only thing that’s not soaked on his body. There’s enough light for him to fumble into the cave, so he keeps walking until he finds a corner that should remain dry during the storm. He sits down carefully and closes his eyes. After the frantic pulsing in his ears fades away, he unbuttons the shirt almost mechanically, exposing his skin to the damp, cool air.

A few seconds have passed. Sam finishes debating whether he should deal with the rest of his clothes—except for the boxers, because he’s not that desperate. They are clinging to his lower body, dripping, and reminding him of the ordinary state of life yet again: incessant disappointments. He tugs at his pants and shoes, kicking and grumbling, the dream catcher swaying on his chest during the commotion. Thankfully, the ground is quite smooth, so he won’t get more than a few scratches. The rain is deafening now, drowning out the indistinct noise he’s making while pulling the last piece of his clothes. The socks are the worst.

He can only imagine what’s happening by the beach, with everything open and vulnerable to the storm’s momentum. And then it hits him. Higgs was there when he last saw him, and he did not follow him to the mountain.

He gets up abruptly and walks toward the entrance. The rain is pouring. It will be extremely difficult for anyone on the other side to hear him, let alone a man who’s miles away. But he tries anyway, out of sheer determination and stupidity. He shouts Higgs’s name and something about caves repeatedly until his throat is going to burst. Rationally speaking, Higgs won’t be able to come here in the storm even if he knows what to look for. In hindsight, Sam would realize that he has gone mad, yet at the moment he’s busy with his imagination of Higgs drowning, body swelling and lifeless by the water’s edge, a stirring image that will surely haunt his dreams.

Sam stands by the entrance for a while, unsure about what he’s been waiting for. There’re raindrops in his eyes, so he keeps blinking, hard and fast and irritating his eyes even more. When the arm reaches in, he initially suspects it’s some optical illusion due to his arguably masochistic blinking. But then he makes out the shape of the arm and the gangly body it attaches to, which is also squeezing into the cave.

“What the fuck,” Sam mouths. “What the actual fuck.”

“Give me a hand, will you,” Higgs asks, voice tense and shaking. Sam grabs his arm before he finishes the sentence and gently pulls, as Higgs shifts his weight. His body is radiating heat under the cloak, his breath hitching. Sam quickly moves to the side after he finds his balance.

“You are a noble man,” Higgs waves at him. Sam opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He stares at him, as he stalks to where Sam’s clothes have been and somehow manages to not bump into any protruding rocks. Then all of a sudden his body drops down with a loud thud, curling against the cave. He stays like that for a moment, before he lifts his chin slightly to take off the hood. His face is extremely pale.

Sam’s already halfway there to check on him. Higgs looks up, but there’s a lack of intentionality in his action. He sighs, loud enough for Sam to hear despite the storm’s intensified howling outside the cave.

"I jumped."

“What?” Sam nearly coughs. His throat still hurts.

“I never expected it to rain, you know. There were thunders, but it never rained like this. Not until you came,” He quirks his lips. “On a side note, I don’t recall any caves this huge and I’ve been here a dozen times. I think She wants you to enjoy the wonder of nature and stay safe. How considerate. ”

“You’re digressing. What do you mean by jump? Chiral-jumping?”

“Don’t be so alarmed Sam. That’s my only leftover, and it doesn’t always work,” He puffs. “When it does, it really drains me. I’m basically harmless.”

I don’t trust you on that, I would never. Sam looks him straight in the eye. That goes without saying, and Higgs knows, because he continues with a cheeky grin that seems misplaced on his pale, sweaty face.

“I was somewhere above you, somewhere I could barely fit in, but that’s the best shelter available in my memory. I’m glad I looked around,” Higgs unfolds his arms. “So here I am.”

Sam responds with a noncommittal nod and sits on the other side of the pile of clothes. It takes him some time to notice that Higgs is scrutinizing him in the dim light. His glare regains the intensity that was lacking moments ago, reading the bruises, scars and the marks left by BTs from another lifetime, and Sam tries very hard to not squirm.

“I can’t help wondering,” Higgs asks, and here goes his efforts to pretend that they can enjoy a moment of peace. “Why you were standing there.”

He sounds genuinely curious, but Sam refuses to entertain him with a genuine answer. It will be an invitation for countless jibes about his irrationality. He simply shrugs. Higgs doesn’t push him to acknowledge anything, seemingly lost in his own thoughts and exhaustion. But then he looks into Sam’s eyes and Sam lets him, partly because he’s caught off guard, partly because there’s no point to run when they’re so close to each other in an enclosed space, where Sam let him in.

“You were calling out to me or something. You hoped I would come,” Higgs states, his eyes glinting with realization. “Once you’re done avoiding people, you project them as your responsibility, susceptible to your intervention. Some say it’s arrogance, or a coping mechanism to make sense of loss, but others praise you for your kindness.”

There’s no mockery in his tone, only assertion. Sam stares back.

“And what do you think?” He rasps, feeling bold.

“I think it’s Her bless,” Higgs looks away. “And a curse.”

——

His clothes are, by some miracle, mostly dry by the time the rain stops. Higgs moves toward the entrance and inhales deeply, a generous gesture to give him some space. He looks back just on time for Sam to be fully clothed.

“How long has it been…for you?” Higgs is chewing his upper lip, eyebrows drawing together. Sam has never seen him like this.

“Four years and two months.” Now that the storm has died down, his voice sounds much louder than intended in the cave. But at least he manages to keep his expression neutral. The other man would despise any sense of pity.

“Fuck.” That’s all Higgs says.

He walks out into the crisp breeze but doesn’t go any farther. Sam follows. The mosses are spreading around them into different shades of green, holding a soft, negligible glow that seems to indicate the sun’s presence. Yet when he looks up, the clouds are still gray and dark with no signs of breaking up.

When Sam looks down, he looks away from the beach for the first time. There is real soil on the other side of the hills, stretching away from the sea. At the point where everything is just barely visible to him stands a tree. Its leaves are shimmering under the light that’s beyond their reach for some unfathomable reasons.

“Higgs,” he calls. The other man slowly turns to him.

“You only checked the shoreline and the mountains for Amelie. Is that correct?”

“What do you mean by ‘only’?” His frown deepens.

“I see,” Sam finds himself panting. “Maybe it’s time to travel inland.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will this be a slow burn travel fiction? Ummm.  
> Thank you for reading this! Kudos/comments will be greatly appreciated.


	3. a celebration

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a voidout on the beach, and Higgs needs a therapist.

“It’s all clean,” Higgs mutters, prompting Sam to tilt his head. The rain has washed the beach over, bringing the viscid, the fossilized, and the rotten away. The newly found barren, ashen wilderness is much more pleasant to look at. It reminds him of the beach he stepped upon decades ago as a little boy, when he loved to stay there and listened to Amelie’s stories, until she urged him to go back as the ocean receded drastically.

There are too many memories he doesn’t want to deal with. He turns back and keeps walking along the ridge, his shirt rustling in the wind. Higgs lags behind him for a while before he decides to throw some questions at a distance where Sam can’t pretend to not hear him.

“So the sixth extinction didn’t happen at all?”

“You disappointed?” Sam throws him a glance over his shoulder, ensuring it looks baleful. “Because your magnum opus was not actualized?

Higgs grimaces. “I just never thought it would all stop. When I first woke up, the sky was burning and the water turned to blood. According to Her, it means the release of BTs onto Her beach.”

Sam thinks of the last time he stood on Amelie’s beach, the bloody sky towering over their shoulders. She was cold and skeletal when he hugged her, and he hated how much she reminded him of Bridget in her final moments. He wondered if she did that on purpose, to allude to her departure. After all, his forehead was already sweaty under the ominous and overarching light. Its warmth couldn’t simply disappear on her end without any deliberate intervention.

“I saw that too,” Sam waits until the heat in his eyes recedes to turn on his heels. “When did it get back to normal? What else did she tell you about the BTs? Are they still trapped here after she cut herself off?”

Higgs lets out a sigh. “Easy there, I don’t have all the answers. After all, I’m not Her favorite.”

“Then tell me what you know,” Sam cries out. “And stop being so accusatory. I’m not hiding anything. If we want to do this together, you should at least show me some respect.”

Higgs squints at him and lifts the corner of his mouth into a scoff. Sam trembles with anger. He grasps his thighs, too hard to not leave a bruise, just so to keep them from reaching out to the other man’s face. Higgs’s right. Hurting him is such a tempting idea, and he hates how easily he falls for this trap. The self-accusation fuels the bile deep inside him, making his grasp even harder.

“Ok,” Higgs says.

“What?”

“I’m giving you the respect you deserve,” Higgs stares at him, emotionless this time. “I won’t talk unless you ask questions. How about that?”

That makes Sam feel like a 10-year old boy who just lost his temper over a piece of Lego. He is left speechless, his cheeks burning. Higgs doesn’t move either. Sam takes the chance to search for a sign of condescension in the other man’s body language and has to conclude in despair that he is truly alone in this alleged confrontation.

He tries to steady his breath. The loosening of his grip is painfully slow in an attempt to not look too pathetic.

“It’s not necessary,” Sam says quietly. “Just…don’t insinuate anything between us. I know what she wants me to know, that’s all.” There’s an inaudible “please” somewhere and his vulnerability has pointed it out, because Higgs raises an eyebrow at him in disbelief. The other man seems to be stunned by his companion’s concession as well.

“I mean it Sam. I need to get out of here ASAP, and you’re my last resort. Let me stay on your good side and I’ll try whatever makes me more tolerable.”

“Ever the strategist.”

Higgs gives a half-hearted chuckle. How time has changed people.

“Now back to your question. The waves never rushed to the shore before I passed out again. The second time I woke up, it all went back to…normal, I guess. I didn’t know when. I was just glad I didn’t drown without knowing.”

Sam hesitates for a moment. “You didn’t feel her at all?”

Higgs makes a face. “What do you mean? Ah yes, I almost forgot. Her hair brushed through my fingers while I was almost blacked out. You see, it’s just the water, but this is Her beach and She’s everywhere so that has to be it.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Says the man who invites his arch-nemesis for a ride.”

Sam is this close to point out that they are not nemesis or whatever because they have no relationship. None. It’s all bad luck, mainly on his part. Yet he doesn’t want to leave the impression that he would make a fuss about something he could simply laugh at. So he says nothing and moves on, and Higgs follows quietly.

Before long, both men realize that the light is always ahead of them, and so is the shiny tree, which Sam would consider an illusion born out of despair if Higgs didn’t jibe about it. But if he’s really honest with himself, the possibility of them being crazy seems higher than Amelie playing a trick.

“So, how’s life?” Higgs asks. While Sam debates if he should ignore this question, he has the gut to add, “After me.”

“Better,” Sam blurts out.

“Ouch,” he doesn’t seem hurt at all. “And how’s Fragile? ”

Sam stops. He turns around and bites, “Don’t you dare. Haven’t you fucked her up enough?”

Higgs throws his hands in the air, eyebrows cocked in surprise. “I’m not going to try anything. Our power dynamics have changed a lot in case you haven’t noticed.”

“And that’s it? It’s all because you’re afraid to die at her hands? You don’t feel any fucking sense of remorse for what you did to her?”

“If you want an honest answer,” Higgs holds his stare with the same intensity. “I would do it all over again to prove my allegiance to Her.”

Sam laughs hard, all teeth and tears and Higgs visibly shivers. “No, it’s not on Amelie. She told you to sabotage the supply chains of UCA. You could kill Fragile and burn her body right away. Yet you summoned timefall on her. _You_ wanted this. You wanted to humiliate her because she was always better than you.”

There is a cold look on his face that churns your stomach and plans your murder, but then Higgs lifts the corner of his mouth just slightly. “Yeah, she doesn’t deserve that. I should have killed her. What would you suggest, Sam? Should I use a gun or strand? I bet a gun would be fast and clean and all but you wouldn’t get the chance to hear someone’s strangled pleas for life fade awa…”

The first punch connects with Higgs’s nose with a sharp, crisp noise. He falls back a little and the blood spurts out onto Sam’s hand, sweet, warm, and bright red. Higgs lifts his head and coughs, smearing everything with the back of his hand in a manner that only makes things worse.

“She won’t fuck you, you know; you’re not her type. Or did I accidentally fuel your fantasy?”

The second punch is meant for his jaw, but since Higgs is a little wobbly after the first one, it lands on his mouth. He spits out blood on Sam’s face after regaining his balance. It smells terrible when you can taste it.

“Why Sam, I know you thought she was into you, and you liked her. A lot,” a smirk forms on his broken lips. It must be very painful. “It was quite obvious with the way your eyes lingered after her.”

“I pity you,” Sam pants. “Just because you can’t care for someone without exploiting their vulnerability doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Higgs pretends to think over it. “Umm, maybe that’s selective. Say, what are you doing with me?”

“I don’t care about you.” Sam almost laughs, with Higgs’s blood on the tip of his tongue.

“You do. You are helping me to find Her. You are doing me a favor.”

“That’s not care,” Sam replies before he accuses himself that he should know better than to bite his bait.

“Not entirely, yes, but I doubt it’s possible without your caring soul,” Higgs moves a step forward. “I was also aware of the way your eyes lingered after me. In our battles, during our reunion. What are you going to do about it? Are you still a saint in front of a wicked man?”

It’s a strange thing, Sam realizes. He obviously has the upper hand between the two of them, as he is more intact and the other man needs him rather than the other way around, yet he knows that he is bound to lose this one. He looks into Higgs’s eyes and suddenly feels his blood everywhere. It is crimson as ever in the dim light.

Higgs stares straight at him and Sam becomes paralyzed. He stands still as Higgs sets his nose with a groan, loud and husky.

“You said you won’t punch me,” Higgs gives a slow smile with teeth soaked red. “But you did.”

“You did this to shove my words at my face?”

Higgs lifts a gloved hand and stretches out his index and middle fingers. “There’re two possible scenarios. I have my satisfaction, or I punch you back. I don’t think you are suited for a one-on-one.”

Sam is about to scoff at it before giving Higgs’s words some serious consideration, but that’s when he notices the silhouette in the sky. “Shit,” he mouths.

“Don’t waste my patience,” Higgs warns, only for Sam to grab his gloved hand and sprint toward the unreachable light at a speed unsustainable for someone with preexisting conditions, so Higgs is more confused than angry. He tries to shake it off, but Sam’s hand is ironclad and it seems he decides to burn out everything to not lose him.

Higgs frowns and looks behind his shoulder. Then he sees it, too, the headless giant with its umbilical cord sprouting into the beach. Countless boulders and whales are raised onto the metallic sky under a blast of wind. They bend under the pressure and keep rising. They soon become little black dots on their way to disappearing into the giant as part of its blood and bone. One of the little dots, Higgs watches in horror, wiggles desperately against the wind.

It is alive. “That’s fucking impossible.”

“Stop talking, just run,” Sam hisses.

“To where? You think you can beat a voidout?”

Sam doesn’t say anything. He’s already exhausted, Higgs figures. Higgs takes a good look at the open space surrounding them and concentrates. Chiral-jumping is never about a known physical place, since the whereabouts of beaches is neither known nor physical. It’s about belief, Fragile told him years ago, and that’s an ability he doesn’t think he possesses.

“You need to believe that such a place exists and it’s worth your efforts. Then if it really exists, you’ll get there,” she said. And he thought that Fragile was a hopeless romantic, that they were crazy in different ways. Now he only hopes she was right.

Apparently, Sam notes his change of posture. “You can jump now,” he says quietly, and then he loosens his grip, so Higgs can let go at his own pace to avoid falling over.

“What are you doing?”

“So you can fucking jump,” Sam’s voice cracks in the wind.

Oh. “I’m jumping with you,” Higgs tightens their hands on his end. He hears Sam’s breath hitch, and that’s the last thing he receives from his external world.

There has to be a safe haven on Her land to keep them from the harbinger of destruction, Higgs hopes. The thing is, Higgs is used to hopes, but life has shown him that he shouldn’t believe in them. But this is Sam, Her child, Her brother, and Her only friend if that ever means anything to Her. He has to trust their connection. She has to prepare thoroughly for Sam’s arrival.

_But She doesn’t have to prepare for you. She doesn’t care if you are safe._

No.

_Stop pretending you don’t want Sam to die so you could have a chance to be Her favorite._

Stop.

_You’re too weak to resist such distractions, aren’t you? Fragile managed to do that just fine even after you fucked her over._

And that’s it, the pathetic ending of his afterlife. His connection to the beach is completely cut off with a painful cry. Higgs almost falls down as he lets go, but Sam grabs his arm like his life depends on it.

“I can’t jump,” Higgs manages to say.

“Then run.”

Higgs laughs hysterically while being dragged along with the other man. The storm is catching them up, the tingling sensation of lightning all over his body. He doesn’t have to look back to capture the shape of the giant’s tendrils as they are everywhere.

A shrill sound resonates in his guts and they are all lit up.

——

Sam wakes up to the chirp of birds and a flush of gold over his face. He narrows his eyes in reflex. While his hands slip away from his body to figure out what kind of surface it is, the way his back stretches already tells him that someone has put him on a camp bed.

He jumps out as quickly as possible.

He’s in a tent with two beds about three feet away from each other, and the other one is empty. The flap is open. Sam checks the dream catcher and the miçanga before he leaves.

The sky is almost cloudless, pouring hues of red and gold onto the brushes that grow down to the edge of his vision. Everything is bright, though he still can’t tell where the light comes from. He can tell, however, that someone is singing in an unfathomable tone at a distance. Sam walks toward it, his clothes and shoes damp with the dew on the leaves.

As the song grows louder, the trees thicken, but that doesn’t prevent him from picking out Higgs’s hood. Sam lowers his head and jumps a little to take the shortcut between the clusters of branches and roots.

Higgs tosses his head and gives Sam a look. His face is almost clean except a trail of faint bloodstain under his nose, and Sam feels slightly guilty despite himself. Then Higgs draws his index finger to his lips, which still bear the marks of their confrontation, and Sam tries not to roll his eyes.

The same finger points to their left, where around a dozen people gather on a small hill. They walk hand in hand, circling an assortment of dried flowers and hay. Their lips move in unison, but each speaks a different language, a different pitch. Yet above it all, their voices weave together and sound orchestrated. It’s a gentle and rhythmic song, luring you into oblivion.

“They want a pyre, but no one has brought the fire with them, so this will make do,” Higgs says.

Sam can ask a thousand questions about the situation. He resorts to the good old, “Where are we?”

Higgs shrugs. “I don’t know, but we’re still on Her beach. At least that’s what they told me.”

“Who are those people? Are they repatriates?”

“No, they’re stranded here like the whales,” Higgs says. “They couldn’t pass on, but since the EE cut Herself off, they couldn’t wander around the living world either. ”

“They’re BTs,” Sam mutters under his breath and realizes that unlike Higgs and him, those people don’t have shadows under the light.

“Were. They’re only BTs when they’re reminded of why they can’t pass on. Only the living world owns that kind of pain.”

“This can’t be all of them,” Sam thinks for a moment and says.

“I think there’re different settlements, and they all bond over particular obsessions, like loss. A young man told me they all lost someone because of voidouts. ” Then he adds quietly, “The ones before Homo Demens.”

Sam closes his eyes and thinks of nothing, definitely not the fading picture he held to his heart once even though he didn’t dare to look at it most of the time.

“What do you think they’re doing,” Higgs’s voice brings him back to reality, if there is one.

“You tell me. You seem to know a lot about them.”

“Not much. I know what She wants me to know.”

Sam stares at him with feigned annoyance.

“What, I only quote things that make sense. You should be happier.”

“I don’t think it’s a compliment that my words make sense to _you_.”

Higgs chuckles. It’s a full-hearted laugh, weighing differently from his usual scoffs and jibes, and Sam has to repress the urge to laugh with him.

“I can guess though,” Higgs hums. “It’s been a while since they look at each other and see a sentient being that feels and dies. They’re celebrating just that…”

Sam waits for him to complete the sentence.

“They’re celebrating life,” Higgs finally says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I hope this message finds you safe and healthy. It's been a while. Life is crazy but I hope I can get back on track. Thank you so much for your comments/kudos/bookmarks.


	4. the heart of all beaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Higgs receive a map and a travel buddy. Lockne and Fragile get to enjoy their time for once.

As the ritual goes on, the light doesn’t change at all. Everything is basked in swipes of dusky pink and orange and it’s hard to tell if that’s dusk or dawn. Sam fixates on the circle until his eyes hurt.

He turns back and breathes out. Higgs gives him a look but says nothing.

“This makes me dizzy,” Sam admits.

“You’re such an old man.”

There is a sense of genuine humor in his tone, and for some reason, Sam smiles at it. The other man’s presence is dangerously soothing. Sam swears that he almost wants to turn back just to take in Higgs’s stupid face. Maybe the voidout has changed them inside out in an ineffable way; it’s not the stranding for sure, because Higgs was definitely not a new man back at the shoreline, just more broken and morbid.

Speaking of which, he still has a lot to figure out.

“What do you remember about the voidout?” Sam nods in Higgs’s direction.

“Nothing,” Higgs shakes his head only slightly so he can still stare at the circle. “I was not even painful.” The disappointment in his tone sounds too real. Sam doesn’t know how to respond other than, “Me too. It was dark all of a sudden.”

“Did you dream after that?”

The question catches Sam off guard. He used to remember dreaming when he woke up from his past deaths. It was from an outsider’s perspective as if his Ka was already heading out, filled with hope that it was the last time. Each time in his dream, he would open his mouth, and a baby would pull his larynx apart to wave at the observer. The baby always came back though, probably because the world was so ugly that it had to retreat to his scarred body instead. He always wondered if that baby was Lou or him back in the pod, if his body was warm enough for both of them.

But not this time. There was no baby, no doll, only darkness. “No. Did you?” Did you ever dream of being born after you died, before you realized that you were stuck in this pathetic life?

This time, Higgs shakes his head in the dramatic manner he has adopted before their very first encounter, because the show is over. People are heading down, taking a more picturesque yet steeper route. Higgs jumps off the boulder he balances on with a smirk. He brushes Sam’s shoulder and runs across the hill. He then goes down the route the stranded ones took, and Sam watches him run, his cloak fluttering behind him like black wings.

Later, amidst the same route Sam walks up the hill with, he realizes that Higgs probably wants them to run together.

There aren’t many shelters on the campsite, if it can be called that. People are sitting or lying on the ground, and some already seem asleep when Sam arrives. The conscious ones simply smile at him and then keep minding their own business—a worn book, a fidget spinner for some reason, a pen without a cap, etc. In fact, most of the things in their hands aren’t going to help anyone to pass time, and everyone is so quiet. There’s not a rustling sound when someone rolls their body on the grass. It’s like their clothes have also taken an oath of silence.

That’s until he hears Higgs talk, of course. He’s with some guy beside the tent Sam was put in, where, if he’s being honest, he was in a coma three feet apart from Higgs.

Before Sam can greet them, the man uncrosses the arms in front of his chest and comes up to shake his hand. His hand is warm, but there’s something to it that makes Sam wonder when the warmth will fade away, as you do with a piece of porcelain under direct sunlight.

“I’m Anton. The talkative one, as they call me.”

“Sam,” He nods and prays that there will not be any small talks. Fortunately, the guy is very straightforward.

“Your friend here says you’re looking for the mistress of all beaches,” Anton glances at Higgs, who seems to have too much fun when Sam almost grimaces at the word friend and then almost chokes on his spit when Anton gives Amelie a full title.

“Yeah. Do you have any idea where she is?”

“Nah, man. Nobody has seen her since they were un-BTed. And just in case you’re curious, in this camp, we don’t remember what happened when we were terrorizing the living world. Rina there thinks we’re repressing those memories. What’s so traumatic about eating people from a monster’s perspective though? But she did have a degree in psychology, so. I also heard that before all this,” Anton points at himself. “She was interning at a lab to make dissociative amnesia less contested.”

“Right,” Sam slowly blinks. This is beyond surreal, a former-BT joking about himself in front of a man who was known to professionally kill BTs with his own turd. “Do you know anything about this place? Where exactly is it on her beach?”

“I don’t think there’s a concrete answer. But we’re closer to her heart than the shoreline, that’s for sure.”

“Her heart?” Sam gives Higgs a side-glance, to which he simply shrugs.

“I thought everyone knows that. It’s like buried in our non-existent blood or something. If this multi-dimensional timey-wimey place turns into a globe, then her heart is at its center. It’s the farthest point from the surface, the endless sea, where death is born for ever and ever.”

A wave of nausea and vertigo sweeps over Sam. He intuitively grabs the nearest object to balance on his feet, which turns out to be Higgs’s arm.

Under his heavy clothes, Higgs’s muscle becomes tense and gives a violent shudder, but he’s fast enough to turn his heels and grab Sam’s arms before the other man falls.

“We should take a sit,” Higgs says, his breath quick and uneven on Sam’s face.

——

Higgs guides Sam to the camp bed with a surprising amount of patience, before sitting cross-legged by the end of the bed. Sam’s head is spinning too fast to ponder what that means.

“If I may, why are you here? I just assumed she misplaced you in this camp and you guys want to find yours.” Anton asks, his accents growing thicker. He also takes a sit, his back leaning against the other camp bed.

“You think we were BTs,” Sam says.

“Yeah, why else would you be here?” Anton flashes a wry smile. “But apparently, we’ll never feel sick, unlike you.”

“That’s complicated,” Sam replies with a half-smile.

“It’s not,” Higgs sighs. “Sam and I want out, but that’s impossible without Her.”

This only makes Anton look more confused. “So you’re alive? Dead?”

“In a way both,” Higgs repositions his long legs. “See, we’re repatriates.”

“It’s real? Man, when I died, that was still very much an urban legend. ”

“Unfortunately yes,” Sam says. “We both have…things to settle with Amelie before we can leave.”

“Leave to the living world?” Sam gives an affirmative nod.

Anton thinks for a moment. “Is it at least imaginable if you’re already cut off from there?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sam asks, cold fury flaring inside him before he forces it to sink.

“She left. I’m no scientist, but that has to do something to you repatriates. Hypothetically, if you meet your end after that, you die for good, because she’s no longer accessible. Then you somehow end up here because you’re also too special to pass on. Maybe this inherent paradox is what connects you, what pushes you to meet each other. Maybe you’re the only repatriates that have died so there’s no place for you yet. You’ll found your own settlement, like Adam and Eve, Adam and Steve, Alice and Eve, you get the spirit.”

“I was ill like this before I came,” Sam says, ignoring the way Higgs’s eyes shine at his admission. “As you suggest, _dead people_ start anew once they pass to her beach.”

“Maybe the rules are different for you guys,” Anton waves his hand. “Please don’t get me wrong; I’m just curious. You don’t have to listen. And yes, we no longer have physical conditions, but we bring things we died with, so there’s still a trace of earthly smell. Otherwise, I’ll be naked, and you won’t get to see Wonton.”

“Who’s that?” Sam asks.

“Oh, that’s our mascot,” Anton winks. “You’ll meet her once you feel better.”

“So,” Higgs says. “You mentioned Her heart. Do you know its general direction?”

“You go inland, but that can be anywhere.”

“Did any of you bring a compass?” Higgs then asks. “I can map out the terrain on the top of your highest mountain, assuming I can see the sea there.”

“I have a portable GPS,” nostalgia surges in Anton’s eyes. “But it’s not working anymore.”

Higgs chuckles without smiling. “You never know it with us. Please show me where it is.”

He deserves an award for making “please” sound so demanding; the thought amuses Sam.

“It’s at the back of the camp. We have to walk for a while.”

“I’ll come with you,” Sam manages to move closer to the edge of the bed, his feet tentatively stepping on the ground.

Higgs raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re still shaking.”

“That’s more about my old age than my condition; I’d say it’s a healthy amount of shaking,” Sam watches Higgs’s eyebrows rise to an impressive height. “Whereas my body ages like wine, my illness doesn’t, so we’d better settle this as soon as possible.”

“Ok,” Anton clears his throat. “I uh, let's get going.”

By the time they stop at the 15-feet truck, Sam’s stomach has stopped hurting. The truck sits on the grass like everything else. Vines have already made their way to spiral on the tires. The light shines on the red bold “D&C Movers” on its side.

Since the doors are already open, Sam takes a look at the bench seat. There’s a clear storage box, about 50 gallons. One-third of the box is filled with some paper-based materials, dried mosses and rosebuds are sprinkled on the surface along with pet toys and hideouts, and an 8-inch wheel is installed with magnets at the back. Something’s moving under the substrate.

Anton climbs onto the driver’s seat to retrieve the GPS. “That’s Wonton, a dwarf hamster, almost two years old. I was moving her to her new home. She had a lovely family, an elderly couple and their granddaughter. They had to move to one of those plastic cottages because they can’t afford to keep timefall-proofing their house. It’s truly a shame.”

Wonton’s pink little nose breaks the surface first, followed by her big raven eyes, her sapphire coat, and a tiny tail that’s shaped like a cotton swab.

“Aw, what a cutie,” Higgs says. Sam gulps.

“Yeah, and she doesn’t bite or run away if you pet her,” Anton jumps off the seat with a grunt. The GPS in his hand is a little gray box made at least 15 years ago, and if Sam recalls correctly, its manufacturer has stopped production since the second post-timefall recession.

When he hands the GPS to Higgs, Sam tries his best not to feel offended. Then, when he sees the destination pinned on the screen, he frowns deeply.

“What?” Higgs asks, delighted at his frustration.

Sam grabs the GPS. “It’s not what you think,” he double-checks it. “This is my address.” He looks at Higgs pointedly, daring him to say something provocative. Higgs’s facial expression, however, becomes empty and neutral all of a sudden as if his address has lost strategic value. That leaves Sam relieved and confused.

“So they moved again,” Anton muses.

“You mean the hamster owners?” Sam asks.

“They were two trucks behind us. They saw us run off the road and fly down the mountain so they must have jammed the brake and made it,” Anton looks up at the sky and all its rosy glory. “We thought that part of the road had been deiced because the community updates said they were sending people that morning. They were either late or ambushed by some damn terrorists.”

“Which year was it?” Higgs asks.

“I forgot, time’s irrelevant here, but it’s before Sam lived there for sure.”

Watching Higgs goes silent feeds Sam with a boost of twisted pleasure. He has the urge to laugh at him and tell him that he doesn’t deserve to feel sorry. Not about Sam, Anton, or that fluffy little creature; he deserves to rot without any chance of redemption.

The only thing that keeps Sam from shouting it out loud is the prickling sensation under his knuckles. He has clutched on the GPS too hard, his body’s intuitive reaction to preempt his outburst. He loosens his grip a bit and checks the screen in case the crack he heard just now didn’t come from his knuckles.

The empty space behind his address moments ago is flashing with blackish pixels. Before long, they turn into a map with a virtual compass at the bottom right. It’s like any digital map on your smartphone, except that there’s no estimated time or road graphics. It’s all curves, representing mountains, hills, and plains. The arrow points to their south.

“Impossible,” Anton leans toward the screen. “How does that even work?”

“That’s Her sign,” Higgs murmurs. “She wants you to go there.”

“But how? This place is totally cut off from the living world and yet…” Anton trails off.

Sam inhales deeply, holds it for a few seconds, and lets it out, a simple and timesaving stress-relieving technique introduced by Heartman, but his head is still cloggy and heavy afterward.

“Sam,” Higgs turns to him. “We should go there. That could be the inland we talked about.”

“You say that as if everything here happens for one particular purpose.”

“Is it not? Isn’t everything on Her beach a metaphor for Her wish to be with you? To protect you? To nourish you?”

“Fuck you,” Sam replies with the same calmness in Higgs’s tone.

Anton takes a step back. “Well, I don’t want any of this. Please listen. If you want this expedition, take Wonton with you. Take her to where her family once lived, where they wanted to live with her. You go find your answers, and she can be closer to them.”

“You read hamsters now?” Sam asks wearily.

“Call it a mutual understanding between the deceased,” Anton says. “If I could meet my loved ones’ shadows, I would go too.”

“I thought you’re comfortable with this eternal peace,” Higgs says.

“That doesn’t mean I prefer it.”

“We’ll need a bag to bring her along,” Sam says.

“And a sleeping bag,” Higgs adds. “It’s no good for the old man’s back if he sleeps on the ground.”

Anton beams at them before Sam can defend himself. “Of course, I’ll fetch some stuff for you. We have a few campers.” Then suddenly, his smile turns timid. “Can you carry all of these by yourself?”

He’s looking at Higgs. Sam doesn’t know if he should laugh at the fact that Anton doesn’t know a thing about Higgs’s strength or huff at his ultimate disregard for Sam’s physical capacity. Surely the striped shirt doesn’t help with his impression.

“Don’t worry. We were both porters,” Higgs offers a smile that makes Sam want to spit on his face.

“Ah,” Anton pauses. “That’s…great. My wife was a porter before timefall took her away. Wish she could also come back.”

“I’m sorry,” Sam says quietly.

“It’s ok,” Anton says, already turning his back on them. “Please wait here. I’ll bring back what you need.”

Now that it’s just two of them and an innocent creature in the bin, who hopefully doesn’t understand English, Sam looks Higgs dead in the eyes and tells him, “This is fucking crazy.”

“What’s there to lose?” Higgs sits on the grass. He crosses his legs and closes his eyes, hands on his knees, as if he can bring himself to meditate.

Sam scoffs before he takes a seat on the other side of the truck. From the corner of his eye, he sees the hamster pop her head out of a tunnel.

“Hello,” he mouths. The hamster begins to dig on the substrate and soon disappears.

He sighs. The breeze smells nice.

——

Lockne loves the afterglow of their intimate moments. She loves resting her head against Fragile’s defined collarbone, her nose nuzzling against her breasts in an affectionate yet non-sexual way, warm feet tangled together. They just hold each other, touching and breathing in each other’s existence. They don’t bother to think about anything, not serious stuff, not even mundane stuff. When she basks in the vulnerability, grace, and strength of the other woman, Lockne blocks all kinds of thoughts, including who’s going to wash the sheets or if someone kicks the strap off the bed again.

Hot damn. She gets to date _her_ , holds her gloveless hands, and kisses her lips regardless of if they’re smooth or chapped.

She caresses Fragile’s back with her fingertips. Fragile sighs into her hair. There was a time when Fragile went stiff whenever she touched her like this in these quiet moments, when she told her she’s too ticklish to receive a massage, when she looked both aroused and hurt as Lockne peeled off her lingerie. Her skin condition has improved slightly after the timefall stopped, but it’s clear that she’ll never regain that part of her youth and she’ll never stop hurting.

For that, Lockne will skin Higgs alive if she has the chance. Too bad he’s not here.

“He got what he deserved,” Fragile reassured her once. “For someone like him, being stranded in a wasteland with no audience for an eternity is worse than hell.”

“No. He’s a fucking narcissist,” Lockne bit. “He’ll look at his reflection in the water and jerk off in bliss until he passes out.”

Fragile didn’t say anything after that. They made out for a while before going to sleep. In the morning, Lockne accused herself of speaking over Fragile when it had nothing to do with her suffering.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Fragile asks, her voice a little husky, and Lockne feels the familiar heat between her legs.

“Um, nothing,” She leaves a trail of kisses on Fragile’s collarbone. “I just feel so lucky to be with you.”

“You sap,” Her laugh vibrates in Lockne, and they stay like this for a while.

“What are you thinking?” Lockne asks.

“I was thinking about your boobs just now.”

“I’m so damn flattered.”

“And…”

“And?”

Fragile sighs. “Other things. Less interesting things, definitely not as interesting as your boobs.”

“Business?”

“Family business,” Fragile says. “I’m sorry. I’m such a mood killer.”

“You aren’t. We’ve already cuddled for like, half an hour.”

Fragile leans in for a kiss. Lockne gladly tilts her head and exchanges some spits and tongues with the love of her life.

“So,” when they’re finally apart, Lockne concludes. “You were trying to reach out to Sam.”

“Are you living in my head?”

“I don’t know, but I was definitely in somewhere south…” The rest of her words are muffled by a cushion on her face.

Fragile sounds sheepish when she speaks again. “Yeah. Sorry, I shouldn't. I’ll try not to think about men’s mishaps when I have a beautiful woman all for myself.”

“Now who’s the sap,” Lockne throws the cushion away. It joins the strap on the carpet. “It’s ok. I can make an exception for Sam. He’s basically a lost puppy, and you know I love puppies.” Before Fragile says something to defend Sam’s honor, she continues, “Did you feel his presence?”

Fragile shakes her head, a frown forming between her eyebrows.

Oh no. “It’s only been 5, 6 hours since he left,” Lockne says. “And he knows what he’s doing.”

“Hopefully,” That’s all Fragile replies, and Lockne knows that this conversation is over.

“Join me in the shower?” She bounces off the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Lockne, don't worry, you'll get to confront that little shit...right?  
> Wow, I can't believe it's already 2021. Thank you so much for your kudos and comments; they always made my day.


	5. swallowed by the earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After they set off, Sam and Higgs have an arguably overdue conversation. Then the earth opens up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of suicidal thoughts and attempts

Anton comes back with a young woman, both with a handful of bags. She waves, “I’m Rina. I’m here to see Wonton one last time.” Then she sizes Higgs up. “You have an interesting tattoo.”

“Thank you. I designed it myself." Higgs gives a little bow.

“Speaking of that, why do you want mathematical formulations on your forehead?” Anton chimes in.

“This makes me feel like I’m one with the universe, as all that will ever happen in the universe can be encompassed into these models,” Higgs says smoothly.

“Edgy,” Rina comments before climbing onto the bench seat adeptly. Sam flashes a victorious smile and raises an eyebrow at Higgs.

“You should see my old Tumblr posts,” he says unapologetically.

Rina removes the mesh lid of the bin cage and slides her hand toward one of the hideouts. Wonton pops out, jumps on her hand, and sniffs around. As Rina strokes under her cheek pouch, Wonton closes her eyes and lies flat, her head resting against Rina’s fingers, her feet tucked under her snow-white belly, where the hair has grown thin as a result of aging.

“Rina’s very good with animals,” Anton hands Higgs a bundle of tent bag and camp bag. “I hope the same can be said about you.”

“I’ll take Wonton,” Sam volunteers. “Trust me, between the two of us, I’m the better candidate for this job.”

“You should never judge a book by its cover,” Higgs points a finger at him. The audacity.

“Your cover is you, Higgs.”

To his horror, Higgs’s eyes glint at this truthful statement like what you see in a pre-timefall documentary where a leopard drools over a gigantic, juicy carcass. “You called my name when I’m right here with you. It’s the first time since our reunion.”

“Stop,” Sam raises one hand to emphasize his point, ignoring the way Anton casts questioning looks between the two of them. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’d rather you talk back with some shit.”

Not far away from them, Rina whispers something in a foreign language and blows Wonton a kiss as she puts her down gently. The hamster is now asleep.

“Please be careful with her. She’s very old,” Rina puts the lid back. “Try not to jog or run while she’s on your back.”

“Duly noted,” Sam promises. Inevitably, he thinks of the time when he ran for his life with Lou secured in a pod in front of his chest, her cry echoing in his head. He swallows hard. Although Rina seems to capture his sudden change of demeanor, she doesn’t inquire about that. No matter if it’s kind consideration or indifference, Sam appreciates it anyway.

“Thanks.” Rina proceeds to settle the bin in a huge carrier backpack, leaving the zipper open, not only for ventilation but also because the backpack is not big enough to cover it all. Anton helps her to fill the rest of the backpack with underwear and socks as cushioning materials, stressing that they’re brand new.

There’s no way I’m already dead, Sam determines as the straps press into his shoulders. The weight is too real. In the worst scenario, this could be the seam’s equivalent on the beach. The voidout earlier didn’t kill me, even though they always say the third time's a charm.

“You’re ready to go,” Anton declares to Higgs. The excitement in his voice breaks off Sam's chain of thoughts. He glimpses in Higgs’s direction and finds him standing upright with a pile of bags on his back. He strides to where Sam is, his step graceful and agile, his breath long and even. Indeed, Sam can’t recall a moment when Higgs exhibits fatigue and exhaustion other than their interaction in the cave following his jump in the rain.

Then it hits him. His condition presumably applies to all repatriates on earth who went through death, which include Higgs once he goes back. He would know, for he delivered several fatal blows himself, as Higgs did to him.

As he could have done to Lou. Sam imagined shredding him apart after he shot at Lou’s pod and almost succeeded in their final encounter before the sea turned red. He stopped when they both lied beside the water, panting, not only because he made a promise to Fragile, but also because he wanted to show that he’s better than what Higgs wished him to be.

_Even if it were all up to you, you wouldn’t be able to choke him to death with your strands, Amelie’s pale smile told him so afterward. You always choose the hard way._

“You’re frowning more than usual,” Higgs observes.

“I don’t frown that often.”

“And you’re digressing. What’s on your mind?”

Sam exhales. “I’ll tell you once we’re on the road.”

“Oh, cliffhanger. Gotta love it.” Sam rolls his eyes.

They bid Anton and Rina farewell and prepare to set off. According to the map, the shortest route won’t intersect with the campsite, so Sam asks Anton to say thank you on his behalf to those who are kind enough to lend them camping equipment.

“No big deal,” Anton says. “It’s not like they’ll ever need that. But can I ask for a hug though?”

“Why not,” Sam smiles while stretching his arms around the man’s broad shoulders. Before he lets go completely, Higgs jumps in and hugs Anton, briefly touching the back of his front arm and left hand.

“You two give great hugs,” Anton says, the supposedly non-existent tears breaking through his eyelids.

“You’re doing yourself no good by growing attached to those who will never stay,” Rina sighs deeply.

“This is how I fight against the way of things, dear. We meet most people in our life just once, as we live once and die once. With a few exceptions, of course. But that’s not enough, don’t you think so? ”

“And your tears will be enough?”

“At least they make goodbyes longer because pain always makes you remember,” Anton answers. “The longest goodbyes turn transience into eternity.”

——

Once the stranded ones are completely blocked by the small hills behind their shoulders, Higgs can’t wait any longer. He asks, “Can you tell me now? What’s on your mind when you thought about killing me?”

“What?” Sam slows down.

“Back when we picked up our bags. You looked like you were going to rip me apart and you were going to enjoy it,” Higgs says matter-of-factly. He could recognize the kind of heat in Sam’s eyes anywhere. It’s the same heat in Fragile’s eyes before she put on his mask and ran into the rain. Once upon a time, Higgs enjoyed seeing people hating him to their cores when they couldn’t even touch a lock of his hair. Recalling those moments makes him want to vomit. He was a pathetic piece of shit; still is, but that’s beyond the point.

The confusion on Sam’s face soon transforms into a cold, pointed glare, his voice low and strained. “You shot at Lou. I shielded her with my back, otherwise, she would be dead.” He picks up his pace right after he finishes the sentence, and the shots echo in Higgs’s head as clear as day.

He remembers why he was so infuriated. He gritted his teeth at the genuine bond between Sam and his BB, sneered at the intuitive care and protection they provided for each other, and was on the edge of tearing his own face apart because he couldn’t bear to see another broken and lonely soul have it all.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Higgs swallows. He makes sure to keep more than a healthy amount of distance from Sam. He would be disgusted to sense his own existence if he were in Sam’s place.

“Your apology isn’t worth anything to me now, because I’ve let the past go, because I refuse to let you haunt our life that’s finally done being a first-class fuck-up,” Sam hesitantly turns his head to examine Higgs’s expression, which is elusive even to Higgs himself. Higgs needs his masks back, now more than ever. “I’ll admit I’m mildly surprised, but that’s it.”

“I didn’t expect anything from you,” Higgs clarifies promptly.

“Good,” Sam says as if he buys it. As a self-claimed realist, Higgs thinks he just really wants to end this conversation.

A few moments later, Sam slows down again. When Higgs readjusts his pace to lag behind him, Sam simply takes a few strides back to his side.

“The things I’m going to tell you will surely be a change of pace.” He looks serious enough for anyone else to forget that stupid dad joke, but Higgs remains untouched by this sexy man’s intent eyes. He wrinkles his nose.

“I’m sick because Amelie left. Our beaches are no longer connected, but to sustain a functional body after repatriation, I need that connection. Otherwise, all the damages I endured that led to my deaths will come back in due time. That’s why I’m here,” Sam stops moving his feet all at once. “You should also ask about that when we find her.”

Higgs is taken aback by the sincerity in his voice. He opens his mouth, closes it, and then bites his lips to stop himself from bursting out laughing.

“What’s so fucking funny?”

“I was responsible for your death. Well, deaths, let’s be precise. And you’re telling me this,” Higgs doesn’t understand where this is going but proceeds anyway. The urge to laugh has already vanished into the pool of scorching sensations under his stomach by the time he speaks.

“I killed you too, remember? When you ‘kidnapped’ Amelie,” Sam reminds him, his air-quotes awkward and wonky, which Higgs finds hilarious and cute for some reason. “Did you not pass to the beach even for a second?”

“Oh I did, and mind you, my ribs were completely broken. You did a good job.” Before Sam’s grimace gives him feelings, Higgs adds, “But what you did was justifiable. I _murdered_ you, there’s a difference.”

“Ok, let’s not go there,” Sam says calmly. “What’s wrong with me not wanting to see you die a horrible death?”

“Nothing. You’re a saint, and that,” Higgs gathers enough will power to flick his index finger across Sam’s chest. Sam doesn’t flinch. “That never stops amazing me.”

Frustration sweeps over Sam’s face. “This kind of basic empathy doesn’t make anyone a saint, Higgs. Are you expecting me to gloat over your internal bleeding or something? ”

“Sort of,” Higgs admits, reliving the way Sam moved his tongue toward the palate as he bit his name. “I know you don’t want to look sympathetic, but you’re trying too hard. You’re tweaking your whole face. It’s hard to watch.”

“That terrible?” Sam rubs his chin to presumably relax the muscle. Instead, this move pushes his lips to form a little pout. Rather abruptly, Higgs lifts his finger and pretends to poke his cheek.

Sam dodges with a frown. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Sam shoots Higgs a tired look and resumes his trek. Higgs gladly follows suit.

While the light grows more prominent above their heads, the sky casts off heavy layers of warm hue and replaces them with clear, brisk blue. The wind blows from all directions, tearing the clusters of clouds up into nearly transparent pieces. Under their feet, wildflowers are flourishing, petals extending and touching the blades of grass that have arrived earlier. Summer has come.

Sam rolls up his sleeves and unbuttons the top of his shirt. From this angle, Higgs sees his sweat glisten on the trimmed hair. He averts his gaze as soon as he knows he’s going to fixate on the way Sam’s chest heaves.

He hopes he’s wrong, but he definitely hears Sam chuckle.

“I’m trying to not stare at your nipples,” Higgs retorts.

“You can’t even see them,” Sam looks down to double-check.

“I’m taking all precautions.” To emphasize his point, Higgs moves his chin forward and stretches his neck so, in theory, he can only see what’s in front of him.

“Are you insinuating I’m too short?” Sam asks.

Higgs keeps his eyes wide open in feigned surprise. “Does that need insinuation?”

The sound Sam makes when he almost coughs is caught between a curse and a laugh. A wave of warmth spills into Higgs’s stomach, a fuzzy feeling he has bereaved himself of for a very, very long time.

“Your boots have heels,” Sam accuses.

“They’re only two inches.”

“Still, they’re heels. Speaking of boots.” As Sam steps off from the topic at hand, Higgs can’t help allowing a sense of petty satisfaction to erupt under his skin. “Aren’t you hot with all this?” Then he deadpans, “I’m talking about your physical heat. ”

“I wasn’t going to tease you about it.” This is a lie. “My clothes are timefall-proofed _and_ breathable.” Higgs pauses for a second to drop a nice amount of suspension. “I made them.”

“Even the boots?”

“Except for the boots,” he concedes. “I designed them and commissioned some artisans on the East Coast. Using a pseudonym, of course; I said I was French.”

Sam puffs while he takes the GPS out of his pocket, so Higgs can’t be sure if this act aims at him or that little gray box.

“We should take a break,” Sam suggests as they approach the bank of a river.

Higgs struggles to move the camp bag to the front and drag a massive blanket out, which will help keep their pants clean and dry for the most part. Sam offers to help. They quickly set everything on the ground in an ambiance of pleasant silence.

Higgs gets down on one knee and gently pushes the fabric enclosing the bin cage aside. Wonton is lying between the right side of the enclosure and the water dish on the top of one of the hideouts. The water and food bowls are empty now, as Wonton feeds on eternity alone. Higgs figures that Anton keeps them in the cage because they hold sentimental values for the hamster. He’s that kind of guy. In another life, Higgs could eat him alive in all the ways possible.

Wonton’s eyes are partly closed, her back arching quickly as she breathes. Her belly clings to the edge of the glass bowl while the pink feet are almost invisible under her coat. Like this, she is not so different from a flattened dough.

“You’re just adorable,” Higgs whispers. Sam stares at him in blunt disbelief before he slowly tones it down.

“Without any day-night cycle, it must be very difficult for her,” Higgs proceeds. “I wonder if she ever woke up for long.”

“They are nocturnal?” Sam sits beside the enclosure and bends his head over, his knees within the reach of Higgs’s arm.

“Most of them are, but mine was most active in the dawn and early morning.”

“You raised a hamster? It has to be way back,” Sam says frankly.

Higgs smiles. It’s the kind of smile someone conjures when they don’t know what else to do with their face. “I adopted that little guy after I transported her owner to the cremation center. Genetic heart conditions, the report said. They were only 17. Their parents were reluctant to keep a living reminder of their child.” His smile grows thinner. “Otherwise, before long, they would call someone to burn the hamster into ashes as well.”

“What’s her name?” Sam asks.

“Butterfly. I used the name her owner gave her. I even made a sticker of an orange morpho to put on the aquarium because it’s her coloration.”

Sam lifts the corner of his mouth just a little, his eyes downcast. It’s the kind of smile someone has when they want to show you everything but have to resort to something. “You were a different man.”

“Was I. If you ask Fragile, you’ll hear all the bad omens about my betrayal in my porter days.”

“I’m not saying you were a good man until Amelie,” Sam says. “I’m saying you were willing to acknowledge your good parts.”

“I call it the repression of trauma.”

“It doesn’t have to be the same thing.”

“It was for me.”

Sam looks up and holds his gaze. “I can bring you to a reliable psychiatrist when we’re out, saying you’re a friend or something. She knows therapists too.”

“There’s a lot to unpack here,” Higgs scoffs loudly. “What makes you think her pills will work better than those I dumped into my stomach years ago?”

“You never know,” Sam declares. Despite Higgs’s ever-growing sneer, his expression remains hopeful and steadfast.

“And aren’t you going to lock me up?”

“You’re no longer a threat to humanity.” The self-assured determination in his tone makes Higgs’s whole body itchy and burning hot like he’s allergic to Sam’s foolishness.

“You should ask daddy’s old flame about it.” He keeps going even when hurt and anger flare in Sam’s eyes. The words taste like shredded meat on his tongue, raw and cold. “Or Fragile. If they don’t kill me for good, they’ll lock me up for life. Otherwise, there truly is no justice in your world.”

Without missing one beat, Sam spits out after his unsuccessful catharsis, “Since when do you care about justice?”

“Since forever,” Higgs replies. “Though I changed my definition of it a few times.”

“Then why are you seeking Amelie out? I assume you don’t like rotting in prison,” Sam shows his teeth.

Higgs turns his eyes and focuses on the hamster instead. Her eyelids are completely open now. She stares at the two gigantic faces on the top of her head. Humans are confusing creatures, she seems to complain, and Higgs can relate to that.

“Because, I’ll ask Her to send me to the other side.” To prepare for what comes out of the other man’s mouth for a bit longer, before Sam parts his lips again, Higgs adds, “What? I never said I want to go back.”

“But you don’t want to drown,” Sam says slowly.

“I don’t want to _be drowned_. In fact, I jumped off that cliff we deemed an altar of Hers so many times, but the waves always brought me back to the beach. My head hurt but didn’t crack. The cold and muddy water in my nostrils dried within what felt like seconds. I would cough a pile of tar out of my throat and then pass out on my puke. When I woke up, I tried again to no avail. This place is indeed cut out from both the living and the dead, but I figure if She leaves a backdoor for you to get in, She may well have an exit for me to get out.”

Sam breathes in once but doesn’t let it all out. “You didn’t tell me this.”

“Because you’ll try to talk me out of it, because you take it upon yourself to fix things that are fragile and broken,” Higgs says. “Some things can never be fixed.”

“Things can get better.” It sounds like a command _and_ a plea.

“I’m tired of this conversation.” Higgs lies down, his face turning to the left so he can’t physically spot Sam with a side-glance.

Sam doesn’t have time to respond further before the ground shakes beneath them. As the turf flips inside out like a trapdoor, they fall into the moist darkness. He doesn’t even get the time to call the other man’s name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will happen next?? Cue angst and mild gore...Not too much, and maybe not too soon, but they're on their way.  
> (don't worry this will have a happy ending because I'm a hopeless romantic)


	6. the jump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar face from Higgs's past comes back. They are in trouble.

Sam reaches out to Wonton with all his strength, hearing his joints crack. As he grabs the strap, he feels the stretch from the other side of the bag. Higgs is doing the same thing.

“Let go,” Higgs cries out and it echoes, so he does. Judging from the heavy rustling from Higgs, although Sam can’t distinguish anything in the dark, he believes the other man has secured the bag on his chest.

As dim light radiates under their feet and outlines the walls of rock, Sam prepares for the impact. He grunts loudly when his back hits the ground, which could break bones if it’s more concrete.

Higgs doesn’t even say a word with the bag pressing against his crotch. Sam admits he should be amazed.

He struggles to get up, cursing under his breath. His vision consists of countless luminous dots, a giddy spectrum of colors and shapes. The more he blinks, the slower they seem to merge, so Sam fumbles for the wall to steady himself, closes his eyes, and waits it out. When his eyes are finally done with adjusting, the irritation on his features gives way to astonishment and panic.

A few steps from him, Higgs raises his upper body with his elbows and checks how Wonton is doing, but his parental instinct is not what stupefies Sam. It’s this damn place, which has no exit and no source of light except for a few oil lamps inlaid into the sunken parts of the rocks.

“There has to be a trapdoor mechanism.” His throat feels like sandpaper. Sam swallows a few times though he knows it won’t help much. Then he begins to grope for something, anything on the wall, his touch growing more and more frantic and vigorous as if he’s smashing it.

Higgs carefully moves the bag to his side and gets up, not without hissing and wobbling. “Given what we knew, it’s the stranded ones who built this place. They’re probably nearby. We should cry for help.”

“Right, but can you jump us out of this dungeon?” Sam asks without turning to Higgs because he knows he looks hopeless. There’s no doubt that the other man can’t make any long-distance jump. Or else, he would have grabbed the GPS and disappeared, but now Sam wonders if he can even get them to somewhere 10 feet above. They did walk for a very long time.

“That’s all you see in me?” Higgs pouts a little longer than usual. “The short answer is yes, but I need to catch my breath and you already know how unreliable it is if we go together. And now we have Wonton.”

Sam nods, his aimless exploration on the wall visibly slowing down. “You should go first, and if you find it in you, take us afterward.”

“Wow, Sam. You’re so selfless.” Higgs makes sure to bat an eye.

“I’m just being realistic.” Suddenly, Sam pushes into the wall and mouths, “There.”

Yet the loose rock doesn’t trigger a trapdoor. Even if it does, if they want to climb up, they’ll need a ladder with a strong build since the walls are too smooth and curved. In hindsight, Sam will understand the importance to think it over before doing something so reckless, but right now, his mind is on autopilot and all he can process are senses instead of thoughts. The rock is cold under his palm and wet with his sweat.

An opening slowly presents itself behind his back, sending out a sound of concrete and metal rotating and clashing against one another. Higgs sighs, picks up the bag with the bin cage, and tells him, “Mind your feet.” That’s because the blanket they used earlier is tangled between his legs somehow. Sam makes a few clumsy jumps and Higgs watches with amusement.

“You sure you want to go ahead?” Higgs asks. His solemn face makes Sam wonder if his question is, in fact, profound and symbolic and he posits Sam’s ability to decipher the real message.

“Do you need more time to prepare for a jump?”

“An hour or two,” Higgs affirms.

“Then I don’t see any other options.” Maybe his answer also has a hidden layer, but Sam prefers to not complicate his life.

They proceed to the gap between the two whole pieces of rock, leaving everything else behind. Sam checks the edges for indentation and finds none.

“Whoever made this, they did a good job.”

“Depending on who you ask,” Higgs says. “If we are their prey, we won’t appreciate their ingenuity for long.”

“Why would the stranded ones hunt on her beach? They can’t make use of anything,” Sam assures him. “And you’re the one who suggested crying for help.”

“I was joking.” Who would’ve thought? “So they made this place for an art exhibit, is that what you’re suggesting?”

“Maybe, or a shelter. Why are you smiling like that?”

“I just have a bad feeling.”

“That’s why your face breaks into these creepy little smiles?” Sam tries to understand.

Higgs simply shrugs and chews the inside of his lower lip. To Sam, the innocence of youth has got back to Higgs as a coping mechanism in the face of uncertainty. Sam imagines being near him when he was an adolescent before the memory of reading his diary sends a shiver down his spine. Any words of tease vanish all at once.

The passage grows brighter and narrower, the ceiling lower, so Higgs has to bow a little.

“Clearly, being a giraffe has its perks,” he laments.

“Are you trying to make me laugh?”

Higgs chuckles, his arms trembling and bumping into Sam. “Oh Sam, you’re too cute.” Because his repertoire doesn't have anything appropriate to offer at that, Sam chooses to not say a word.

Before long, the width of the passage can only accommodate one person at a time, so Higgs slips to the front and blocks most of Sam’s view. A true gentleman.

When he stops all of a sudden, Sam almost shoves his nipples into the bag.

“What?” It’s a fierce whisper instead of yelling because he’s nervous as hell.

“Someone’s coming,” Higgs whispers back. “Keep quiet and let me do the talking.”

From Higgs’s shoulders, he spots two men closing in. A few feet from them, the narrow path leads to a clearing that has more room. It’s attached to a metal staircase. The men just climbed up as if on cue, but for some reason, their feet didn’t make a sound. They are covered in black from head to toe except for their necks, where they wear identical glided necklaces that are shaped like falcons.

Higgs’s shoulders grow tense and Sam’s stomach churns. It seems their bodies synchronize to presage what’s going to happen.

The guy on Sam’s right points an OA-93 at them.

“Please come with us,” he holds the pistol tighter. “We’ve been waiting,”

——

At the other end of the stairs is a bright, spacious room. It’s lit by a good deal of lamps inset onto the wall. The flame is probably inexhaustible on Amelie’s post-timefall beach, where nothing ever gets born or dies out.

About 20 people gather around in groups, speaking in each other’s ears. They have the same black cloaks, boots, and gloves, but only a handful of them wear those gilded necklaces. They stop whispering as soon as Higgs straightens up and walks out of the shadow. Higgs watches each of them intently, a faint sneer crossing his mouth.

He doesn’t look like a prisoner, Sam muses. He looks like he’s ready to own them.

“Ethan Uphoff,” he stops on his feet and calls.

A guy with a smaller build and paler face steps forward. He’s one of those with the falcons.

“You’re finally here. Should I introduce myself? Your friend seems a little bit lost.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

Right, and I’m supposed to let him talk. Sam glares at the back of Higgs’s head, hoping his sixth sense works well at this crucial moment so he can take the hint.

“Rude,” Ethan marches into Higgs’s personal space. Higgs doesn’t flinch. “You haven’t changed much, have you? You still want to play this little game of yours, where you’re the one to throw questions so I’m the one to give himself away.” He smiles. “Now the table has turned. I have guns and grenades.” he waves his left hand, and other people immediately take out their weapons for the show. “After the plan was foiled, everyone stranded on Her beach became a repatriate. We can’t die; the exit is closed. You wouldn’t want to die a million deaths, so I should start the conversation this time.”

“Your rhetoric is beyond lousy,” Higgs yawns.

“Say whatever you want. You’re mine now.” Ethan giggles and, much to Sam’s dismay, squints at him. “Now, who am I? And why are you here? Umm, where to start…”

“He was part of Homo Demens,” Higgs interrupts. “He had DOOMS and dreamt of Amelie as well, so I enlisted him. One day he disappeared and established his own cult, recruiting people from Demens and elsewhere. He told them Amelie wanted more harbingers of destruction. Then he exploded a cellar and sealed everyone willing to die underneath so they could become BTs. The rest of his cultists went back to their lives as if he never happened.”

“Aw, you’re just jealous because no one was willing to die for you. But yeah, that’s pretty much it, though you forgot to mention the part where I fucked you.”

“A lot of people fucked me. Or got fucked, you ain’t special,” Higgs smiles, showing his teeth. Ethan replies with an equally creepy smile. “There’s a difference. You _invited_ me to your bed.”

Higgs laughs and Sam visibly grimaces. “You didn’t win anybody’s heart, darling. I simply knew a nice dick when I saw one.” He looks back at Sam and winks. A bright red flush permeates Sam’s cheeks and it’s not even on purpose. Hopefully, Higgs has successfully convinced their captor that this is exactly why he brought him along so his embarrassment will be worth it.

Ethan’s mouth presses into a thin line, but his lips are still crooked because he, apparently, is also a bigot. “Let’s get down to business, shall we.” He takes a step back and raises his right hand before most of his followers hide their weapons. The man with OA-93 and a few others keep pointing their guns at them.

“Here’s the deal. I want you to stay here until Amelie comes to fetch you. We want to see Her.”

“What do you…”

The shorter man delivers a solid punch to Higgs’s stomach. He coughs violently but doesn’t forget to stretch an arm in front of Sam. It’s to warn him not to say anything.

“Shh, listen. I dreamt of this. You and me, after everything. I dreamt of you stumbling upon my altar after that Fragile chick left you on Her beach. It’s so unfair. You got to witness the first half of the rapture while I had to endure your bloody face in my sleep.” He spits on the ground. “But soon this nightmare will be over because She will return us to earth.”

“As BTs.” The realization sinks in. Higgs’s face is convulsed with disgust.

Ethan seems satisfied with his reaction. “So we can finish what She started.”

“Even if She lets you out, you think you can trigger the sixth extinction with what, 20 people?”

“The point is to open the corridor to the living world once again. Thereafter, all the BTs will be automatically sucked onto the mortal plane,” Ethan explains.

The mere thought of Anton, Rina, and that little guy in the duffle bag turning into pools of mud that shriek and twitch leaves Sam out of breath. “She will not come back,” Sam mutters despite himself.

Higgs turns his head and looks at him point-blank. He has been trying so hard to center the narrative around himself so Sam may walk out of the picture. Sam feels deeply sorry for nearly, if not already sabotaging his plan and thinking too low of the other man. He expected to be thrown under the bus by now.

“How do you know that?” Ethan tilts his head. Thankfully, he doesn’t move closer.

“I told him so,” Higgs says. “I’m Her precious baby. I know Her. Isn’t that why you assume She would come for me and meet your needs once I’m your hostage?”

“No, I want to hear him talk. How did you two know each other?”

Sam tries to not look in Higgs’s direction for moral support. “I was in another camp of former BTs, where we all lost someone due to voidouts. He uh, he came to us and took a rest.”

Ethan begins to circle around and stares right into him, like a falcon with its prey. “Why did you travel with him?”

“I want Amelie to give my late wife a message. I don’t want her to wait for me if she’s still on her beach.” He swallows because it’s part of the hard truth and he salivates to cope. Yes, he is determined to ask about Lucy this time. “Like you, I think there’s a good chance of meeting her if I’m with Higgs.”

“I’m so touched,” Ethan claps once before turning to Higgs. “And why’s there a rodent on your back?”

“My emotional support animal,” Sam interjects.

“Chivalry is not dead huh. So, where are you two lovebirds heading?”

The age-old trick of interrogation, Sam realizes, is to first ask questions about minor details incessantly so your opponents feel bored and relaxed. The real question drops when they are the least defensive so their responses are far from watertight. The interrogator can then cut in the fracture, tearing the whole story up.

“We were wandering around and calling out to Her because we have no clue of Her whereabouts,” Higgs doesn’t exhibit any signs of distress, unlike Sam, who has to mask his anxiety with an impatient groan. “Then we fell into your trap.”

Ethan lets out a deep sigh. His shoulders slouched for a moment, his eyes weary, and Sam’s stomach simultaneously sinks to the ground because he knows what this means. The other man’s done playing games.

“You don’t walk around with some random guy, Higgs, not for physical pleasure. He’s of strategic use. He knows something you don’t.” He taps his chin with one long index finger. “One thing’s clear now; you can’t afford to give him away, and I know you want out. So what could it be?”

“You’re reading too much into my horny brain,” Higgs argues.

Ethan doesn’t respond to that. He nods at the two men behind Sam, who quickly moves forward and grasp his elbows. It doesn’t help that one of them has a pistol, which levels at his temple.

When Higgs turns his whole body back to get a closer look at the situation, for the first time since Fragile arrived on the battlefield like a Valkyrie, Sam sees pure panic on his face.

Ethan raises his right hand and crosses his index and middle fingers. Sam’s blood turns cold. He looks straight at Higgs, while a few things happen not necessarily in the following order: the men drag him to the point a few feet further from Higgs, one of them lifts his shirt and exposes the cross on his abdomen, Ethan’s eyes glow like emeralds under the lamplight, he yells things along the lines of “He’s Her firstborn; keep him and dispose of that…”, and Higgs rushes toward him, extending one arm to grab on his shoulder.

And everyone with a gun, including the guy with that polished OA-93, prepares to shoot at this crazy, crazy man.

Sam has never adapted to emergencies like this, so he does what he’s good at: following his shitty instinct. Right now, the only thing that occupies his mind is Higgs can hardly jump with another human and they’re going to shoot him.

As the two men try to block what’s coming, Sam struggles to bend his forearm, reaches into his pocket, and throws the GPS into Higgs’s hand that’s not an inch away from him.

“Jump,” he shouts, voice cracking.

Confusion, anger, and liquid suffuse Higgs’s eyes. His eyeliners, which were reapplied at Anton’s camp, are smudged a little. He looks beautiful like this, Sam thinks.

The bullets begin to fly and Higgs disappears.

——

He lands on his knees and falls over. His forehead presses hard against the floor—it’s a shed; his peripheral vision told him so—as a point of support, where his cold sweat leaves stains behind. Higgs takes in a strained breath, retches so the bruised part on his stomach hurts more, and breathes in again. Before he rolls over, he unloads the weight on his back to his right side in the clumsiest manner he can imagine.

He closes his eyes but can’t bring himself to lies comatose, even though his head hurts like hell, so he curses, “Fucking idiot. Stupid fucking…” He trails off after remembering this aims at not only Sam but also him. For completely different reasons, of course; one for letting go, one for not, but perhaps they have the same motivation at heart.

Then he laughs hysterically and takes a glimpse at the GPS in his clenched fist, which is still working despite Sam’s absence. It says he is closer to the destination now. He stops laughing because his eyes burn under the hot steam.

Higgs loosens his grip on the GPS and gently lays it down beside the duffle bag. He needs to take a breather or his head will explode. Then he’ll strategize and go find Sam.

“I’m more than what we both give me credits for,” Higgs murmurs, a promise that seals his fate. He sounds like a crow that will soon die of thirst.

——

Deadman first notices Fragile not by her signature blonde hair but by the lingering smell of lavender shampoo. Using scented stuff that is conventionally associated with femininity is a recent development for her, and everyone’s here for it, because it means she feels more comfortable in her own skin. He bets she’s sharing bathing products with Lockne now.

He smiles and turns back on his swivel chair. Then the smile diminishes into a tentative frown.

“You look concerned. What’s wrong?”

“Is Lou asleep?”

“Yeah, and I’ll know if she’s having another bad dream. I put a lot of buttons in her room,” he offers reassuringly.

“Good,” she sounds relieved. But then she continues, “I can’t feel Sam and can’t locate him by his beach. I think he’s unconscious somewhere else.”

Deadman stands up abruptly. “Oh.”

“It’s my fault convincing him that I’ll find him in 24 hours, isn’t it? I shouldn't have expected everything to follow what happened years ago.” She bites the inside of her lower lip hard, almost enough to draw blood as if it’s some kind of self-punishment.

“You don’t know that!” Deadman takes a step forward but doesn’t dare to offer a hug. “It’s been like what, 6 hours? We have time. I’ll ring Heartman now and ask him to run across beaches like last time. Lockne can also consult with Mama. We have resources _between life and death_. We’ll find our boy in due time, don’t you worry.”

Fragile gives a weak smile. “Thank you. I just want to let you know before Lou asks.”

“We’ll think of something. She’s a big girl. Even if it comes down to her to…”

“No, it won’t,” Fragile says, her voice firm and labored.

“Yeah, I’ll uh, let me ring Heartman and see if he’s awake,” Deadman turns to his desk and monitors hesitantly.

“Ok, message me if you guys find anything. Good night.”

“Night. By the way, you know you’ve done everything you can, right?”

There’s no response. Deadman turns back and it doesn’t surprise him that she’s already gone. It just makes him sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The falcon points to Horus, the god of kingship in Ancient Egyptian mythology. Clearly, Higgs will infiltrate into your demeanor, your fashion sense, and your choice of symbols if you sleep with him. Sam, be aware.
> 
> Thank you for reading my fic! I may go back to revise this chapter per my dear friend C's suggestions; we'll see. As always, kudos&comments are appreciated <3


	7. fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get bloody and Sam feels Higgs's hair. It goes in that order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of past child abuse

Once his head stops spinning like a turntable, Higgs gets up using all limps and explores the shed. He is still very much lightheaded, so he barely has any sense of balance and walks with small, slow steps, which boosts his anxiety to the point he says a bad word seven times consecutively. Thanks to that, he feels a little bit better. 

  
Now he confirms his suspicion earlier that nobody’s home. Otherwise, they would come out already and throw a fit upon hearing him curse no matter if they understand English. It sounds like a frantic monologue before you murder someone anywhere.

  
The shed was converted into a guesthouse by the time its owner was left dying and unattended (you bring things you died with, Anton said once). At the entrance is a drawer with succulents on the top. Right against the wall are two armchairs, the embroidered curtains caressing the picture frames on the side table. The windows are open and the leafy fragrance outside flows through. Higgs takes a deep breath and quickly lets it out as if it’s too much.

  
The far end of the room features a double bed; the sheets are immaculate. Other amenities include a bath unit and a microwave, both of which are functioning. Higgs decides not to ponder over the way things work on Her beach.

  
After rummaging through every corner of this cozy little house, Higgs reaps everything he finds remotely helpful for the plan, if it can be called that. A long, thick hemp rope for strangling, a Swiss army knife for stabbing, and a bottle of pesticide for a biting kiss under your eyes. All that’s left to do is to wait until he recovers from his previous jump. 

  
He also finds a sticker on a pillow. The owner wrote a note in both their native language and broken English solely for the convenience of the visitors. In essence, it says they’re alone here, “the wind is lonely too”, so they’ve left to find others and will not come back. They only took the family pictures so everything else is at the disposal of whoever needs it.

  
Out of the last trace of courtesy in him, Higgs writes “thank you” in both languages using the same sharpie on the side table and sticks the note to one of the picture frames. It’s where their ghost lingers. 

  
Higgs takes a seat beside Wonton’s enclosure, the makeshift weapons set into a semicircle facing him. Wonton emerges from her tunnel. Her pink oval nose heaves rapidly because the air changes when a wicked man is nearby. Such is the truth Higgs acquired from the hide-n-seek games his uncle made him play. When his neck prickled as the man drew near, the room stank the same way it did when he disemboweled him posthumously using a pocketknife. He sighs, and a pair of round eyes look up for the source of the noise. 

  
A small, forgotten, and nameless corner of his heart is touched by what’s unfolding in front of his eyes. Higgs takes off his gloves and brings his palm to one side of the bin cage, where Wonton’s out and searching. She ventures slowly to where his hand is and lies down, the edge of her snow-white belly separated from his fingers by a thin wall. He smiles and stays like that for a while. Then, he goes to wash his hands properly and lifts the lid. He kneels down and reaches for the fluffy ball.

  
The hamster raises her head with vigilance so Higgs stops moving. She sniffs and nibbles his fingers to determine if they belong to her stomach or it’s the other way around. Soon, she casts her doubts aside, lowers her head, and stretches her whole body. She puts the weight of her head and two front paws on Higgs’s hand.

  
Carefully, Higgs begins to stroke under her cheek pouch like Rina. Wonton slowly closes her eyes and relaxes her body, a gesture of approval. Her furs are so soft and warm. Perhaps, she sought Higgs’s hand earlier to cool down a bit because he’s always cold throughout the seasons, unlike Sam, who’s always burning inside out. He’s sure about this from the few times he got to feel him via his fingers. And tongue. The tar tasted like warm cocoa, except it’s too bitter.

  
He massaged Wonton’s head and back for a few more minutes. Not without a sense of pride, he watches her vibrate in comfort. He gently withdraws his hand when she seems to fall asleep again. 

  
He puts the lid back, collects the weapons, and takes a deep breath. He tries to locate Sam through his feelings around him so he may jump with the utmost precision. 

  
Sam has been a ball of fire, scorching his skin wherever they make contact. The fire is always hurting, but now he finds it warm, though he doesn’t have a specific timeline for the change. His warmth is distinguishable from Fragile’s or Amelie’s, all of which he doesn’t deserve for different reasons. 

  
Fate works in mysterious ways. It gives the arguably most selfish man on earth a less instrumental excuse to seek Sam out, and Higgs never misses an opportunity. In his mind, he runs after Sam’s receding figure with a dying man’s last boost of energy. 

  
“There,” he mouths. His muscles and viscera cry in agony, and that’s how he knows he has made it.

  
He retches uncontrollably when he hits the ground with his whole body. Through his blurry vision, he spots an empty hallway. He hears footsteps. People are coming to see what happened. With guns, presumably. 

  
He takes the knife out first, his back pressing against the darkest corner by the entrance. He doesn’t need to regain his balance to have some fun.

  
——

  
They shackled Sam with chains on a gilded chair, which, in Sam’s opinion, substantiates way too many occult ideas in its complicated decorative patterns. Ethan said with conviction that Amelie would certainly come, and Sam laughed, so he got a punch on his stomach as well. 

  
“You should just ask me where she is,” he says just to piss Ethan off because they both know he wouldn’t tell even if they ask nicely.

  
“So funny,” the guy replies dryly. “We can’t go anywhere, don’t you see? No one can climb out of the cellar. That’s the prerequisite of exploding it.”

  
“We fell down through a trapdoor that’s like 10 feet above your ground floor. You have a herd of goons. They’ll find a way to lift you up,” Sam points it out because he has nothing else to do. 

  
Ethan gives him a tired look as if what he’s about to say is obvious to anyone. “The side door you came through can only be opened from the other side. We’re trapped here by design.”

  
“Fair enough.”

  
“You don’t seem worried at all,” Ethan observes, though he doesn’t act surprised. “You must be in a hurry to find Her if you’re desperate enough to enlist Higgs.”

  
No one forces him to tell the truth in that regard, but he surely can afford a harmless one when he’s bored. “That’s not it. Higgs is just…there. We’re simply traveling together.”

  
“But you know who he is,” Ethan states. “You’re Her son after all.”

  
If he were not in chains, Sam would snap already. He has heard enough about divine providence since Ethan delivered a sucker punch right on the chosen one’s stomach. Sam glances up and tries to impale the other man with his stare. “I’m not her anything.” 

  
“Yet She stopped the sixth extinction and stranded us on Her beach for ever and ever. Who else was that for?” His voice is inquisitorial, his steps frenetic as he circles Sam. “In my dream, She told me She has loved you since She put the cross on your belly. She fought against Her only interest for you. Don’t deny Her.”

  
It’s beyond doubt that they have different concepts of a loving relationship. Sam keeps his mouth shut because he has no intention to further provoke the other man.

  
Ethan takes a few shallow breaths before asking the next question. “Why did you send him off?”

  
“Because you were going to kill him a million times as you suggested. Why do you care?” It may sound confrontational, but Sam’s genuinely curious.

  
Ethan heaves a heavy, deep sigh that would be purely sarcastic if it were from Higgs. “I was not going to shoot him ‘a million times.’ Once, for sure, so he won’t bring you out of here.”

  
“But why do you care?” Sam repeats, this time fully aware of how provocative he sounds like. 

  
Ethan lets out a mirthless laugh. “Let me rephrase that. Did you expect him to come back for you?”

  
“No. I simply didn’t want to watch him die.”

  
“I see.” Despite what he says, Ethan looks confused and taken aback for a moment, and it makes Sam pity him.

  
They don’t exchange any words afterward until two rounds of guard shift later. By then, Sam has imagined a few alternatives to explain his current situation to Fragile when she arrives. She would punch Ethan in the face and take her time to break his eye sockets if he ever implies that he hurt him. Therefore, he should save that for later, at least until they get out of this dungeon where people are waiting with weapons.

  
“Your arms must be sore,” Ethan says. Sam just stares at him.

  
“I’m not going to take the chains off,” he clarifies. “I may think of another way to tie you up so your blood circulation is not too bad.”

  
“How generous.” Although he doesn’t mean it, Sam decides that he prefers to not see Ethan with broken eye sockets. A bloody nose will suffice. 

  
That’s when a loud bang echoes in the dimly lit hallway outside their room. Ethan immediately runs to the furthest end of the room and retrieves a shotgun. When he gets back, five armed guards have already left for the noise. Without a word, the rest of the guards move in tandem to form human shields around Sam. Those who have guns keep them aimed at their fronts.

  
Sam panics because Fragile would know how to be stealthy. 

  
Several gunshots are fired and people are screaming in high-pitched voices. None of them sounds like Higgs. Soon, he comes in victoriously with blood all over his hands. 

  
“I would’ve done a better job training them,” he looks right at Ethan while Sam looks right at him between two hooded heads.

  
“Why do you come back?” Ethan sounds both desperate and disappointed. Higgs shrugs like the little shit he is. When he sprints toward Sam, gunshots fly like raindrops even before Ethan shouts “fire.” 

  
Bullets sweep past his skin every so often, but Higgs doesn’t stop. He begins to jump between his steps. Each time he physicalizes, he looks thinner and feebler. Sam gulps and feels that his chest is going to burst any time soon. 

  
At one point, Ethan pulls the trigger when Higgs is close enough and blood blossoms out of his chest, through and through. Sam cries, tears streaking his cheeks as they did during the rainfalls that blighted everything before they kissed the soil. That is a more poetic way to say he can’t control them. Sam makes the chains jingle as he fights to stand up with the gilded chair so he may wield it against those goons. The effort is in vain due to his physical state, as one would expect. Higgs makes a watery coughing sound, which can also be interpreted as a sneer (the bastard), and keeps limping for the last few feet.

  
He drives the army knife into someone’s neck when they finish reloading. They fall down without a sound, creating a breach for him to slip through. Right when Ethan fires his second shot, he lifts Sam’s head with both hands and smears blood all over his face. The stench overwhelms Sam. He's familiar with this as it’s exactly what he smelled like when he was dying. He retches involuntarily and Higgs twitches his lips in an attempt to form a smile. He’ll never know if it’s meant to be reassuring or ridiculing.

  
He’s spinning around with the stagnated air.

  
“I found you,” Higgs whispers when red is all Sam sees. 

  
——

  
They land in the shed with Higgs dropping dead over him like an octopus. Sam holds his breath and pushes the body over to the side, his motion slow and controlled, the opposite of his heartbeats. From where he is, the view of the bath unit is unobstructed. It includes a bathtub in which Higgs will certainly have difficulty stretching out. 

  
He has made up his mind. Sam kneels beside Higgs and tries to lift his upper body. A drop of sweat flows from his hairline to the gully that is his frown creasing the forehead. He sets his jaw firmly, hearing his teeth clank. If someone comes over, they would believe this is a murder scene, and he is moving the victim away. In a way, they would be correct in that he did lead to the other man’s demise.

  
Dragging Higgs to the bathtub is as arduous as fighting him. His body turns against Sam with the last hint of pride. He’s not a heavy man, and Sam has known it since their dogfight four years ago, yet he’s inclined to sink to the ground regardless of which part of him Sam catches hold of or how balanced they are as a unit. At one point, Sam takes off his blood-soaked shirt during a much-needed breather. He’s sweating all over his body. It’s his fault to not make the windows wide open in advance, but he’s too tired to make a detour. 

  
Finally, Higgs’s back thumps against the basin, his legs folded to one side. Sam hunches over the edge of the bathtub for a while before he’s ready to explore his options. The pipe burns under his fingertips so there is hot water and it has been prepared for the visitors for some time. In any other scenario, he would try to find the owner and thank them for such hospitality, but now he has a dead man to take care of. 

  
The next step is to peel off the layers of couture so he may check on Higgs’s fatal wounds and clean those that won’t fade away. On the contrary of his imagination, the boots come off quite easily. The hard part appears to be the cloak and the belt, then his vest, which has no practical reason to fit so tightly. After some unsuccessful maneuvers, Sam leaves the vest be, along with the briefs, because lifting them up will be enough. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the other man’s body build; the problem is, he has been appreciating it a little too much since they met face to face for the first time. Given this cold hard fact, he wants to keep their physical contact and unsolicited eye contact at a minimum so he won’t be accused of taking advantage of anybody by Higgs or any gods, spirits, and demons. 

  
It doesn’t occur to him until much later that Amelie is the only unison of these three symbols for self-discipline known to him. It’s better that way.

  
The bullet that took Higgs’s life is nowhere to be found, meaning it went through his lungs and remained in the dungeon as a souvenir, a blunt mockery. The wound is already healing. Shreds of meat crawl toward one another in circles, sweeping blood and tissues along. Surprisingly, the visual image amazes rather than disgusts Sam, and he watches it for a few more seconds with guilty pleasure. After testing the water temperature from the portable shower head while washing his hands, he listens closely to Higgs’s chest. There’s a weak melody of thawing. He sighs deeply and begins to rinse off the blood on the other man’s hair and skin using a hand towel.

  
When he’s satisfied with what’s been done, Sam discards the towel for it to join the pool of dirty clothes on the floor. He rushes to the cabinet and digs out a first-aid kit. The iodine solution and antibiotic ointments are brand new but have expired for a couple of years in earthly terms. Since the stranded ones and their belongings freeze in time and the items at hand don’t look spoiled, Sam decides to give it a try. He meticulously applies the treatments to Higgs’s cuts and abrasions before he gets up rather strenuously and heads out. There is one last thing to do.

  
He brings back the pillows from the double bed, one placed under Higgs’s neck, the other between his backbone and the bathtub. It’s more for his comfort than Higgs’s at the moment, but he hopes the other man would appreciate it. Then he collapses on the bath mat and refuses to move any further. 

  
That’s until a pillow falls down and hits him in the face. Sam gets up abruptly and moves closer. The other man is clearly convulsing, and his frown is deep enough to hold a knuckle. As Sam draws near and rests an arm on the bathtub for support, Higgs turns his head to Sam’s direction before resting it on the back of Sam’s hand.

  
It’s not anything deliberate. It’s an instinct to feel secure in someone’s warmth. Many mammals do that, but we humans tend to make mundane things sound more exceptional to the parties involved. Like Sam, he has a peculiar feeling that, deep down, Higgs reserves a tiny sparkle of trust for him, even though he is doing this unconsciously. 

  
He could have used the other arm to retrieve the pillow and got Higgs back to the previous position, but he didn’t. Now, one of his hands is trapped under Higgs’s neck, the other combing Higgs’s hair idly. The other man’s expression gradually becomes neutral, then calm. The wound on his chest is completely sealed. 

  
Like all good things on earth, it doesn’t last very long. Higgs begins to convulse again, and this time, he opens his mouth. Before Sam’s cloggy mind registers the signs, he rolls over and vomits. 

  
The tar smells like rotten meat on Sam’s arms and legs, but as long as the worst part is over, he doesn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like mutual pining and people being soft to each other,,,


End file.
